


Get Back Up

by jeffcatson



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Roller Derby, F/F, Roller Derby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-05
Updated: 2016-03-17
Packaged: 2018-05-18 09:48:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 48,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5923918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeffcatson/pseuds/jeffcatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Roller derby isn't about how hard you can hit. It's about how hard you can be hit, and still get back up again."<br/>An Agent Carter roller derby AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

1.1

There’s a jammer flying around the track, coming top-speed towards her, and Angie Martinelli - well, here, she’s Lauren Break-All, 5’2” of unmovable object in sparkly pink leggings and bright red lipstick - braces herself against her blockers’ arms, sticks out her butt, and braces herself for impact.

It’s Ruby Grinder jamming - off-track, she’s Molly, so soft-spoken and gentle - here, she smashes full-on into Angie’s back, and immediately Molly’s sliding sideways, edging down under Angie and Vera’s locked arms. Angie pushes off with her toe-stops and swings her butt around again, shoving her off balance and towards the edge of the track. If she can just get Molly to set one foot over the line, she’ll have to go back and try again, having lost her momentum - but she’s already slipping past them both, ducking under Vera’s elbow and hurtling off for another lap.

Angie straightens up and lets out a whoop. “Next time, Grinder!” In response, Molly grins, crossing over smoothly and coming back around the track. Angie’s blockers have about ten seconds to work out another position: time to try something new. “Lock shoulders - we’ll use a line”, she says, and Vera and Helen push themselves into her sides, holding her arms fast. They can’t use arms to block, but they can brace against each other and make their bodies an impassable wall.

Vera’s looking over her shoulder to watch Molly’s play as she comes back in to the pack. “Left - she’s coming on the inside!”, she shouts, and the three blockers move as one, right up to the line and no further. Angie feels a swell of pride - they’ve practised this, they work together seamlessly, and there’s no way any jammer’s going to break through that line - out of control, Molly tries to swerve last-minute to cut a wide arc around the outside of the track, and thuds sideways into Vera’s back. Vera stumbles, shoves out a toe-stop to take up the momentum, and then she’s off: moving right, dragging Angie with her, hip-checking Molly before she can slip past. They’re moving forward, now, too: Molly trying to gain speed again, the pack steadily staying ahead, moving side-to-side as one and stopping her moving through.

The whistle blows: Molly’s stepped over the line, and now she grunts in frustration as she skates ten feet behind the pack, and readies herself for a sprint. Another whistle, and she’s off, running on her toe-stops, ready to slam through the pack: she feints right, towards Vera and Angie, then moves left at the inside of the track, where Helen’s ready to hip-check her over the line again. Angie skates ahead of Helen, ready to back her up: and that’s when, skating too close, Helen’s inside skate catches Angie’s - she spins, out of control, landing one foot sideways just as Molly breaks through - and then she’s falling face-first at the ground. Helen trips over her first: one skate, scrabbling for purchase, lands in her thigh while the other slides away in the other direction - and last of all, Molly lands heavily square on top of Helen, skate wheels spinning in the air.

Faintly, Angie hears the whistle blow and the refs skating over, but she can already feel Helen and Molly shaking with laughter on top of her. She shifts her elbows and mumbles something about getting off her: they both roll sideways, and the three of them lie on their backs, panting and laughing.

“Good try, Grinder - didn’t give up, did you?”, Helen says, reaching her ankle up to massage it and loosen her laces. “Did I land my wheels in you there, Break?”

“Sure did: going to be wicked bruises in the morning. I’ll send you a snap for your collection, how’s about that?”, Angie says. It’ll be the outline of her wheel: she’s seen bruises that shape on teammates, but hasn’t yet added something so precise to her litany of marks, blooming pink-purple-yellow in irregular clumps on her thighs. She’s excited to see how it’ll turn out: for now, she gives it a rub and accepts the ice-pack proffered by a ref. “You okay there, Grinder?” She looks sideways, where Molly’s grinning at the ceiling, flushed with triumph.

“Yeah - good, really good”, she says. “Don’t think I’ve managed to break through so many times in a play before - and it don’t feel like y’all were easy on me, either. Think I’m getting better at this.”

Angie punches her gently in the shoulder. “Course you are: it’s what happens when you practice. That and the rest of us are too chicken-shit half the time to try jamming, even: what do you think, girls? Think you can do as well as our star jammer here?”

“After you, Break”, Vera says, standing above them with her hands on her hips. Upside down, she’s all endless legs sheathed in glittery green leggings, a wry smile under her matching helmet. Angie tips back her head and grins back at her: “what, you keen already to beat up another one? I’ll come be your punchbag: long as you tend my wounds after, how’s about that?”

“Sure, that’ll happen”, Vera grins, “but, alright - no sympathy from here for whatever scrapes and bruises, but every point you score, I’ll save you a cinnamon bun special. You can cry over our superior blocking on the sofa with your face stuffed with cake, that work?”

“You’re on”, Angie says, grabbing the jammer’s star from Molly’s helmet and clambering to her feet. “I’ll jam anytime, you know that - don’t care how bad I am at it.” Bracing her toes, she holds out hands to Molly and Helen, leaning back to heave them both up together. “Let’s do it: not like I don’t know all your tricks already.”

*

Even more than working with teammates to bring down those pesky jammers, Angie loves the pure joy of speeding around the track, flying faster and faster on her skates. In training, she aced all her speed tests: coming early to the track to race around on her own, staying late to work on getting her turns tighter. Carol, the team first aider and occasional ref, had chalked up the sides of her wheels: not enough to slow her down, but just enough to leave marks on the smooth floor. Over weeks of training, Angie watched her irregular oval become a precise diamond on the track: the most speed, with the least distance, and the tightest corners, and she’d be ready to slam through any old pack of blockers. 

Now, she pulls the star-emblazoned cover over her helmet, and gets into position on the starting line. It’s just practice, now, so there’s only one pack, and one jammer: in Sunday’s game, she’ll be racing the opposing team’s jammer to reach the pack first, and break through and ahead. Her team’s blockers may be helping clear a path for her by pushing the opposing blockers out of the way, or they could be busy concentrating on stopping the opposing jammer. In any case: she has one goal. Break through, and then she gets to go fast.

The whistle blows, and she sprint-starts on her toes before sliding seamlessly into skating. They’ve lined up as a triangle on the inside, Molly supported by Vera and Helen’s interlocked hands, but Angie swerves sharply to the outside, spins and gets her momentum up again, and is through and off before they can recover. _That’s one_ , she thinks, bent over, crossing her feet, her eyes fixed on the top corner of the track. She turns on the inside, then heads to the outside of the track, skating the diamond and upping her speed for another push.

The blockers are skating now: rather than trying to stop her outright, they’ll use her momentum to push them forward and stay ahead of her as she tries to break through. They’ve spread out across the track, and Angie speeds up even more, then transitions into gliding: just before hitting the pack, she brings her feet together, ducks her head and tucks in her arms, and slides seamlessly underneath Molly and Helen’s outstretched arms. “That’s two!”, she yells, elated, and glances back as she turns the corner to see Vera mock-fist-shaking at her.

Another lap: she’s feeling the pain in her thigh more keenly now, muscles moving back and forth under bruised flesh, but there isn’t time to pay it mind now. The blockers have lined up more closely, and she can’t turn sharply enough to swerve around them: instead, she thumps into Helen’s back, and quickly gets her skates moving under her, keeping her speed up and trying to pass her again. Molly’s moved in front of Helen, and as Angie shoves Helen out of the way, Molly slides sideways into her. Angie stumbles, and Molly hip-checks her again, and, as she’s regaining her balance, one skate slides over the line.

The whistle blows: Angie stops fighting, and skates back ten feet. Gets into position, and the whistle blows again: she sprints forward, throwing herself at the pack, but she’s tired now, and they’re locked firm together. She moves forward and gets pushed back, until she loses all momentum; tries again, sprinting up to speed as the pack moves forward, trying one side and then the other, but they’re relentless. It takes long, long seconds, but she’s finally able to slip past on the inside as Vera’s changing position: quickly getting up to speed before the pack can get in front of her again. Her shouted “Three!” as she skates away from the pack is her most triumphant yet, and she’s a little relieved when the whistle blows, signalling the end of the play.

*

“Molly, can I borrow your conditioner?” Angie shouts over the shower stall wall. “Mine’s out, and you’ve that fancy sleek-making one, right?” She’s showering quickly: Wednesday evening practice has always run right up against her late shift, but she wouldn’t have it any other way. Can’t leave practice early; can’t miss precious hours at the diner even if they’re unsociable as anything and the last thing she needs is to be on her feet. Tonight, she’ll be on the five-hour late shift, followed by another hour of cleaning and setting things up for the morning. She’ll be home at 4am, and starting again at midday - but at least, if Vera follows through, there’ll be cinnamon rolls waiting for breakfast. She keeps prepared dough in the freezer, rolled up with a mixture of butter, sugar and spices: ready to bake for an easy night-time snack before hitting the sack.

“Heads up!” Molly calls, and the conditioner comes sailing over the stall. “Thanks, hon!”, Angie yells back, and gets busy smoothing out her hair. When she emerges, most of the rollergirls haven’t yet finished showering, so she has space to spread out her uniform on the bench and check it for creases and stains. It’s all good: she gets the dress on, and stuffs her pantyhose into a pocket to pull on at the diner. Her kit’s heavy with sweat: she sniffs the pile, grimaces, then stuffs it into her locker. It’ll keep till after the bout. Last week’s robot-patterned leggings she folds into a plastic bag and seals tightly: they can be washed at home, ready for Sunday’s game. She’s bought a new silver lipstick especially, and thinks, smiling, that she could get a glitter layer to stick on top of it.

As she’s drying out her hair, Molly emerges dripping from the showers. “Fancy footwork you had there, hon”, Angie says, reaching for the curlers. “Looks like you’d been practising those sharp turns, right? Remember you said you’d been finding them hard work last week.”

“That’s right”, she says, smiling over at her. “Figured they’d do me good: I can’t slip through the middle of the pack like you can, but I can shove hard, and if I can go round fast, that’s so much the better, right?” The coaches had impressed upon the team that different body types would do well using different techniques, and that all their body types were valuable and useful to the team. Short, curvy Angie might be able to slip between blockers more easily than wide-set, thick-limbed Molly, but Molly would be unstoppable as a blocker and formidable when up to speed as a jammer.

“You off climbing again with your young man soon, then?”, Vera asks, pulling on trousers.

Molly smiles. “He’s away Saturday. Thought I’d better take it easy, not wake up Sunday all achy: I’ll be doing some easy laps round the skate park if y’all want to join me.”

“That I might”, Vera says. “Text your plans to the group? There’s a new pancakes place right by the park I wanted to try too, how’s about that? And young Angie: off working again so soon, it’s a shame to be missing you. What happened with that audition you were telling us about last week, then?”

Angie pauses in the middle of putting on eyeliner and makes a noncommittal “ehhh” gesture with one hand. “I don’t know, Ver - it sounded like they were looking for someone really professional. And then Gloria called in sick at the diner and they offered me her hours that day: I couldn’t let them down, y’know? Makes you think, even if I’d gotten it, don’t know how I’d find time between work hours and practice: and it’s not like I could just give one up.”

“Oh, sweetie”, Vera says. “I know: it was good of you to step in at work. But you gotta take yourself seriously one of these days: I bet they’d see you as someone professional if you just went for it? Half of this stuff’s just the confidence to go for it - “

“ - yeah, and the other half’s having the time and the talent to pull it off, isn’t it? Look, Ver - thanks, I know what you’re saying. But I gotta go. See you tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay, hon. You go do your thing: see you for breakfast if we’re around.” Angie just has time to look back and give Vera a smile as she’s rushing out the door.

***

 

1.2

Peggy Carter is not having a good day.

It’s the third time she’s been kept late this week. She’s drowning in Roger Dooley’s meaningless paperwork, while her partner, Daniel Sousa, is taking on both their workloads in chasing down the leftover Hydra sympathisers they last tracked as far as London. Worst of all, she’s going to be late to meet Jarvis.

Dooley leans out of his office and shouts across the room. “Sousa. Thompson. In the boardroom, now. Not you, Carter: ring down to the kitchens, have the girls bring up coffee. Tell them not to forget the cream this time - oh, and see if they’ll send up that new girl with the nice ass, why don’t you?” He grins, and Thompson high-fives him on his way into the boardroom. Daniel looks away, and grimaces at Peggy. “And, Carter”, Dooley finishes. “Get in here when you’re done. Bring those reports.”

“Yes, sir”, Peggy says, through gritted teeth, before picking up the phone. All this week, her boss has been dragging them into his office, asking for increasingly-detailed reports on exactly what they’ve found. Yesterday, he’d followed up with a long grilling: how exactly they’d come across this information, why it had taken them so long, and whether they were really sure it could be trusted. He’d called them both incompetent, and heavily implied that Daniel would be better off working with someone else. She’s worried, now: this is the first time he’s called Thompson into a meeting with them.

Jack Thompson did his job. That was about all she could say for him. He sucked up to Dooley, did only what was asked of him and no more, and kept trying to take credit for her and Daniel’s work. She could work with him fine: as long as he stayed on his tasks, and let her focus on her own. And as long as he didn’t involve Dooley in what they were doing too much.

When she enters the boardroom, Dooley has his feet up on the table, and Thompson’s smirking at his side. Daniel is on the other side of the table, a stack of paperwork in front of him and an unhappy look on his face. One of the new girls from the kitchen is pouring out coffee: Peggy couldn’t say if she’s the one Dooley had in mind or not.

“More cream. That’s it: they’ll make a decent server of you yet”, Dooley is saying to the new girl. “Pretty girl like you’s sure to go far here, if she’s got the right attitude. Know what I mean? Now, why don’t you scurry on back down, and make sure they remember to bring the good sugar next time. You can come back in an hour to bring more fresh straight to my office, how’s about that?”

Peggy walks around to where Daniel is sitting: he rolls his eyes at her in sympathy. She doesn’t respond.

“Hurry up and take a seat, Carter”, says Dooley. “Why don’t you both report in. What’s new since yesterday?”

Peggy straightens in her chair. “Well, sir, while yesterday’s intelligence placed the Hydra operatives in a safe house in central London, we’re looking to double-check it. Today we got in touch with two more agents based nearby: Coulson and May have been engaged on other missions, but have agreed to take time out in order to - “

“What’s the matter?” Dooley interrupts. “Don’t think your intelligence is reliable? Thought you were just convincing me yesterday that the sun shines out of your primary agents’ asses, now you’re telling me you’re second guessing their information?”

“Well, sir, it’s standard procedure in delicate situations such as this, and we anticipate that Morse and Simmons having backup will ensure the safety of - “

“You know what, Carter? I’ve just about had enough of your wasting time. You know where the agents are, you say you know what they’re planning - “

“Sorry, sir, we think we know”, Daniel interjects. He clears his throat, and shuffles papers until he finds a report. “Last week’s intelligence implies that it’s Tower Bridge and the nearby government buildings they’re interested in, but we can’t say why just yet: could be they’ve something bigger planned than we’re ready for.”

“That’s right”, Peggy adds. “We really need more time: our priority is the agents’ safety, and if we rush into action before we’re sure there’s immediate danger to the public - “

 “I get it”, says Dooley. “You’re not sure whether you’ve been chasing cold leads all this time, and you’ve decided it’ll be easiest on your skins to make up something about “incomplete information” and “agent safety” - as though you’re so worried about what happens to our people in the field - and you think you can bullshit me into pushing back action? No, that’s not how this is going to work.”

“With respect, sir - “

“Can it, Carter”, he says, voice raised now. “Doesn’t matter: I’ve already had a conversation with Thompson here. Says he’d be delighted to be assigned to help with your case. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Someone competent around, whip you into shape a little?” That last is directed straight towards Peggy’s chest: his eyes come up to meet hers, knowing she saw him looking, and he smirks. “Yeah, I think Thompson’s just what you need. A real… competent… agent on the case. I’ll leave you to get acquainted.” With that, Dooley stands, claps Thompson on the shoulder, and leaves, leaving the door swinging.

Peggy is shaking, now, with anger. She sits up in her chair and takes a deep breath, ready to tell Thompson just where he can go -

“That sounds fine, Thompson - doesn’t it, Peggy?”, Daniel says, shooting her a warning look. “We can always use more eyes on a case, especially as we’ve been looking at it for weeks now. We’re sure to have missed something.” He’s speaking slowly, trying to calm her down: she stays mutinously silent.

“Sure, whatever”, Thompson says. “Look: I ain’t so interested in whatever touchy-feely sharing-caring kumbaya shit you two are obviously running here. What do you say you just pass me over what you’ve got so far, I’ll look for inconsistencies? You can carry on double-checking or scratching each others’ balls or whatever it is you’re doing here: I’ll work out the facts. Yeah?”

“Of course”, Daniel says quickly. “Why don’t you take these: we wrote up summaries for yesterday’s briefing. Let me know if there’s anything you need clarifying.”

Thompson scoops up the stack of reports, fires them a wink, and leaves. Peggy immediately whirls upon Daniel.

“That no-good, cheating, unprofessional sleazebag! You’re really going to let him work with us? Daniel, he’s just going to put us down and take all the credit, you must know that - “

“I know. Did it look as though we had a choice, though? Either we argued, and he’d have spent even more time putting us down, or we just accept it. You know Thompson: he’s not really going to work with us. He’s going to pick through everything, looking for mistakes: maybe he’ll leave us alone for enough time to do the job properly.”

Peggy huffs. She knows he’s right, but it’s not Daniel that the both of them stared at and interrupted.

“Peggy. You know I’m right. This’ll mean we at least get a bit of a quiet life - maybe without daily briefings for a while. We should get him a few more reports to read, buy some time - “

“You get him your precious reports.” Peggy stands up, violently brushing imaginary dust from her skirt. “Yes: if you’re so keen to work with him, you can be our liaison. I’m - I’m going to lunch.”

*

Peggy had met Edwin Jarvis a year previously, while on an assignment to an independent contractor. Howard Stark worked occasionally with Shield, providing agents with weapons, armour, and surveillance technology, but his security left something to be desired. After he’d misplaced some bombs, Peggy had discovered agents of Hydra holding them, formulating a plan to hold New York itself hostage. She had stopped the plot, and subsequently insisted that Stark destroy his weaponry or else hand it over to the Triskelion for safekeeping: he had handed over a van-load, but she had always suspected him of holding some back. In the process of dealing with Stark’s scatter-brained organisation, his infuriating man-child manner, and his womanising, Peggy and Jarvis had become firm friends. 

“Jarvis, I’m sorry I’m late - I thought he’d be keeping us doing meaningless paperwork yet again, but it’s even worse”, Peggy says, sliding into a seat and putting her head in her hands. Across from her, Jarvis raises an eyebrow, then sweeps a leather bookmark off the table and folds his book back into his bag. “He’s given away our assignment. Just up and told us we’d be working with Thompson, now - I’ve told you about him, haven’t I? Awful, weaselly man: always playing his horrible favourites game with Dooley. Honestly, I’m sure he wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t for the boss: he does his own jobs well enough, but he’s replicating all his awful comments, as though that’ll win him favours.”

Jarvis nods in sympathy. “Unfortunately, I rather suspect that your Mr. Thompson is quite right. Oafs such as Mr. Dooley only understand people like themselves. If he feels closer to Mr. Thompson because he’s joining him in making lewd comments and putting down his colleagues, I’m sure that Mr. Thompson knows precisely what he is doing, and how to find favour among those who only understand outdated, archaic customs.” He pours out water for Peggy, looking thoughtful. “I’ve often thought that it must rather make these people terrible agents: if they’re unable to summon up enough empathy to work with someone just a little different to themselves, how on earth do they propose to think like an opponent, or make leaps of intuition on enemies’ movements?”

Peggy nods, already feeling herself unwind in the presence of her friend’s understanding and his smooth, solid tone. “Absolutely”, she says, “and you know? This is exactly the problem, too. Daniel and I do better work: that much should be obvious to anyone paying attention for ten seconds. But it’s Thompson’s work that Dooley praises loudly, and Thompson who was last promoted. As though being able to crow together over cigars confers anything about being an effective agent!” She sighs, and reaches for the menu.

“Indeed. Oh, and I took the liberty of ordering for us both already, Miss Carter: would the pasta al salmone suffice? They’ve recommended a lovely white Zinfandel to accompany it. I predicted you may not have all the time to linger in conversation, and that you might enjoy a more immediate meal once you had arrived.”

Sure enough, waiting staff are already hurrying to their table, steaming bowls in their hands. “That’s very thoughtful of you, Jarvis”, Peggy says. “Thank you: the pasta will do nicely.”

“I think you mentioned last week that Mr. Dooley had yourself and young Mr. Sousa working yourselves to the bone, writing up all manner of meaningless extra reports and obscure paperwork”, Jarvis says, winding tagliatelle around his fork. “Is this still the case? Are they still keeping you in the office all hours of the day?”

Peggy nods, mouth full, then swallows her pasta down with a mouthful of wine. “You know, it never used to be like this. When I joined up, I was so ready to help people, to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves - it’s only become this bad since I’ve been off active duty. Last year, I mostly had free rein to do as I liked: remember when we chased down Stark’s mistakes? No-one was checking in on me then.”

“Perhaps they’re intimidated, now. You’ve shown them your competence, and that you cannot simply be left alone to type up papers or whatever else they assume that female agents do. They’re aware you’re likely to become involved in cases, even indirectly, and that you might go after your opponents personally: it’s somewhat more than they’re used to seeing agents do.”

“Perhaps they’re intimidated”, Peggy says. “Or perhaps they are merely misogynistic, patronising, archaic, outdated bastards, who would rather force good agents to push papers around than admit that a woman is doing her job well and that she should be given space to do so.”

Jarvis smiles. “Well, of course, that goes without saying.”

“I’m sorry, Jarvis - I’ve been talking all about myself, and it’s honestly the same problems I came to you with last week. How are you? How is Ana’s exhibition?”

At this, he lights up. “It’s going well, thank you: I’ll tell her you asked after her. The paintings are all hung - she’s only changed their order in the gallery once this week, and I think she’s now happy with them. She’s just putting up the finishing touches in the space: a little theming, some seasonal sprays here and there to guide people through the exhibition. She’s also been returning home at all hours recently: I’m simply glad she stays still for long enough to eat a decent meal. Not to pressure you in the least, of course, but if you’re able to pop in to the opening party on Friday, Ana would love to see you: or, of course, she’d be happy to give you a private tour at any time.”

“Thank you: that would be wonderful. I’ll have to let you know when, but I’ll do my best. It’s lovely that you’re looking after her while she’s so busy.“ Peggy takes another mouthful of tagliatelle, thinking longingly of Jarvis’ elaborate roast dinners.

“Oh! In fact,”, Jarvis says suddenly. “Do come for dinner this evening, if you’re available? Ana’s promised she’ll be returning early, and I’ll be doing a roast lamb stew: I’ve always found that everything seems much rosier when one is full of good food and wine, and with good company.”

Peggy chews, considering: could she leave Daniel to finish up on today’s plans? To contact new agents and brief them, and ensure the appropriate forms were completed? Somehow, it doesn’t seem fair to leave him to it. Swallowing, she shakes her head in regret. “Thank you, Jarvis: it really is very kind of you. I can’t leave Daniel alone this evening, though: we’re both swamped, so we need to get on with finishing paperwork. Please send Ana my love, and my apologies: I’ll see you both soon, I hope.”

Jarvis nods. “Very understandable: although I do hope you’re able to find something better than local fast food every evening. In any case: have you at least found time for better things than work? What on earth happened with your charming young lady?”

Oh. Well, Maria had been charming: they’d met at a Shield training course, and agreed to have a coffee sometime that week if they could both get away from their desks. Peggy wasn’t proud to have had to cancel last minute: it was just that, on that day, everything had piled up all of a sudden, and the task of dredging up the energy to laugh and flirt had seemed insurmountable. She sighs, and shakes her head. “I wouldn’t have been good company: we just had so much on. I’m sad to have cancelled so last-minute: I think she found it rather rude. It may well be that it’s simply a bad time for me, what with everything.”

“Oh, dear. Well, of course I’ll be the first to tell you that work isn’t everything - but I know it can certainly feel that way when you’re caught up in the middle of it, and especially when you’re being given such a difficult time. I’m sorry, Miss Carter - it is a shame, and you deserve to have plenty of time to spend with plenty of wonderful people, and for life to be all buttercups and roses.”

Peggy laughs. “I’d like to see the look on Mr. Dooley’s face when I advise him he should endeavour to make his employees’ lives all buttercups and roses. Really, though: if I can’t manage a coffee with someone in the same building, I can’t imagine what hope there could be for any kind of work-life balance anytime soon. Least of all my finding something remotely interesting to talk about.”

“Then, if I may, Miss Carter: a challenge?” Jarvis raises an eyebrow, with a gentle smile. “You’re absolutely correct: your Mr. Dooley is a fiend and a cad, and it’s a criminal waste of your talent to be chaining you to a desk, and a waste of your charm to be keeping you from all the lovely young ladies and gentlemen of this world. I understand your scheduling is difficult, and your concern over providing monotonous and unhappy conversation - although I might add that I’ve never found your company to be anything but scintillating.” He waves away her blush with a smile, and continues.

“My suggestion is this: this weekend, do endeavour to take at least one full day off. And, perhaps, speak with someone new, or try something new. It’s always beneficial to be reminded that the world is really much larger than one’s workspace would imply, and that it’s rather full of wonderful people, each living their own lives and making plans and having adventures. Find a new adventure, Miss Carter: and then, next week, you can tell me all about it.”

“A new adventure”, Peggy says, catching Jarvis’ laughing eyes and smiling back. “Well: who am I to turn down such a challenge? Darling Jarvis: send Ana my love, won’t you? And I’ll see what I can do about fulfilling your wonderful proposal.”

***

 

1.3

It’s late in the evening by the time Peggy makes it out of the office. Daniel had left an hour previously: he’d promised to make it back in time to tuck in his kids. Peggy had said she’d finish up that day’s reports: she’ll find a quick sandwich, then head back to her desk. 

The diner is almost empty when Peggy enters, with just one waitress on the floor, taking an order from a booth at the far end. The waitress glances up when she sees Peggy, and calls over: “just take a seat anywhere, honey: be right with you!” Peggy slides into a booth with a sigh, stretching out her legs and reaching for a menu.

“What’ll it be, hon?”, the waitress says. “Cup of coffee? We’ve a lovely apple pie on, just came out fresh.” Her name tag reads “Angie”, and Peggy looks up at her, smiling to listen to her rounded, New York vowels: to her, the accent somehow always conveys cheerful optimism.

“Just a cup of tea, thank you”, Peggy says, and before she’s even finished speaking, the waitress breaks into a delighted smile. “Well, of course, you’re English! Long way from home, aint’cha? Don’t you worry, I’ve just the thing: I know how you English like your tea”, and she’s sweeping off to the machine.

She returns with a tray: tea cup and saucer, a small jug of milk, sugar, and - heaven of heavens - the tag hanging out of the steaming teapot reads, “Twinings English Breakfast”. Peggy laughs along with the waitress: “why, I don’t think I’ve seen anything like this in all my time in New York! You do know how to show someone they’re special.”

“Sure do: we keep this in the back, know how particular some folks can be”, Angie says. “Now, look: hope you don’t mind y saying, but you seem as though you’ve had a trying day, so I just went ahead and ordered you up some of our pie. It’s on the house, and you don’t have to have it, but I ain’t never met someone who didn’t find themselves all perked up again by Gloria’s cooking: that’s her through in the kitchen there, she handles all our pastry.”

“Well: with such a recommendation, I’m not sure I could refuse”, says Peggy, smiling back up at her. “With cream, if that’s all right - that would be lovely. Thank you.”

The tea is perfect, and the diner warm and bright. Peggy holds the cup warm between her hands, and gazes out at the city, bright streetlights reflecting off the rain-slick pavements, She’d known someone else, once, with that same kind of strong, optimistic Brooklyn accent, offering up small kindnesses to strangers as though they were nothing. It’s a warm memory, now: not the sharp pain that it once had been, and Peggy lets herself drift a little, lost in the sepia-tinted past.

A commotion on the other side of the diner startles her out of her reverie. Angie’s walking over with her pie, but the other customer - he’s a tall, imposing-looking man, a combover and messy moustache over a too-tight, beige tie - he’s waylaid her, and seems to be saying something about his meal. He’s raised his voice, and his pointing at his plate and then at Angie. In turn, Angie’s nodding sympathetically, then, placing the pie down on a neighbouring table, she takes a couple of notes, then turns to run his plate back to the kitchen. As Peggy watches her walk away, she gasps to see the man suddenly slap Angie’s behind: Angie freezes, then very deliberately, without turning around, keeps walking back to the kitchen, and the man laughs uproariously with his friend.

“What an awful man”, Peggy says in sympathy when Angie finally rejoins her at her table. “Does that sort of thing happen a great deal, here? I’m so sorry it’s something you have to deal with.”

Angie flaps her hand dismissively, and shrugs. She makes to turn away, then seems to abruptly change her mind. “You know what - you mind if I join you?”

Without waiting for a reply, Angie slides sideways into the opposite booth, leaning up against the window with her heeled feet hanging off the edge. Toeing off one shoe, she brings up her foot to massage it: with some effort, Peggy tears her gaze away from the long, tights-clad legs in front of her, and looks back up at her face.

“There’s always someone”, Angie continues, squeezing the ball of her foot and running her thumbs up and down the arch. “First time I’ve seen this guy, but last night it was this other jerk, sending back his order twice. I saw him with one of the other girls, too: he was just watching her the whole time, making her run back and forth to the kitchen for him. Then a guy earlier today was just making orders to my chest, and last week someone argued with me about the prices and then pinched my ass to boot. They always tip the worst, those guys, too: it’s why I don’t much bother running round after them these days. Want to make girls feel like they have to earn their tips, then double-whammy them by leaving a measly five percent. Not worth worrying over, in the end: that’s what I tell all the new girls, anyway.”

Peggy nods in sympathy. “That sounds terrible”, she says. Remembering Jarvis’ earlier words, she adds, “I’m sure it’s the kind of thing you only receive from insecure people: they’d like to feel powerful for a few moments, so they give a hard time to someone who is paid to be nice to them. I can’t imagine anyone else would give them the time of day.”

“Oh, sure”, Angie nods, toeing off her remaining shoe and stretching out her foot. “I just think they must be kinda miserable if they’re getting their kicks this way. But anyway, that’s all enough about me: what’s your story, sugar? You come in here, looking all morose: your boss giving you a hard time?”

Peggy grins, realising she’ll be recounting a very similar story. “That’s right: just another man who still thinks it’s the nineteen-forties”, she says. “He’s been second-guessing me for weeks around a project I’m working on, and seems to delight in asking my partner to explain things when I’m around, or talking just to him when I’m right in in front of him. Thankfully, my partner’s been excellent: he sees exactly what’s going on, and always directs things back to me. It’s not only that, though - I think it’s my very presence that he finds so offensive, he’s started taking any opportunity to put down other women in front of me.”

“That so?”, Angie says, frowning. “Don’t sound like this man’s much better than any of my puffed-up patrons up in here, either: funny how some guys still gotta stomp on everyone else, even when they’re right up the top.”

“He has this steady stream of coffee girls coming up just to be harassed: I think they must be drawing straws to decide to has to bring it up to his office”, she says. “Thankfully, it hasn’t been too bad for me in comparison: when possible, I’m just keeping my head down and getting on with things. But listening to my problems is all terribly boring: is there, um, is there something else you’re hoping to do, besides this? Or are you able to find time for something else outside of work?”

“Well! Sure do, now you care to mention it!” Angie perks up, re-crosses her legs with a flourish, and strikes a pose. “I’m an _ac-tor_ , daaarling. Made it onto this little off-Broadway production for a season last year and everything. Sure, it might have just been a chorus part in some spoof that closed after a few weeks, but, gotta have a dream, you know?”

“That sounds wonderful: are you working on anything now?” Peggy leans forward, suddenly eager to hear more: Angie’s face had completely lit up, and Peggy just wants to keep her talking like this, all happiness and enthusiasm. She thinks she could listen to her speak for hours.

“Well, I might have a few things lined up”, Angie says, then grins wickedly, looking Peggy straight in the eyes. “Why d’ya ask, English: you want to come see me on stage, huh?”

Peggy feels herself flushing, but straightens her shoulders and returns Angie’s gaze. “I think that sounds lovely. I certainly would come along - if you’ll have me, that is.”

“It’s a deal, then: I’ll let you know when I get my big break”, Angie says. “And so! I gotta get back to it. See you around, I hope, English - been a pleasure.” With that, she slides down out of the booth on her hips, to where her heels are waiting on the floor. Peggy doesn’t realise she’s watching as her dress hikes up around her thighs - suddenly, she catches a glimpse of an absolutely livid bruise, and lets out an audible gasp. A moment later, she’s kicking herself at her lack of subtlety. Angie, for her part, is simply watching her discomfort and smirking.

“What’s that, English - you spotted one of my kisses? Seems I caught you looking”, she says, straightening up. “I gotta show you this one over here, though - it’s brand-new, and I’m so damn proud of it.” She steps closer, to where her waist is at Peggy’s eye level. Swallowing, Peggy looks up and up into her face. Angie’s hand skims the hem of her uniform dress, and slides it up over her other thigh. It’s obvious she’s enjoying Peggy’s nervousness. “It’s okay, sugar. Take a look.”

This bruise is smaller, and fresh: it’s bright purple, fading to blue at the edges, and forms the shape of a perfect circle. Peggy momentarily forgets her fluster in curiosity, and raises her fingers, almost to touch it. “What is it?”, she asks, looking back up.

“Roller derby, sugar”, Angie says, dropping her dress. “Teammate fell right over me, planted her skate right there. Impressive, huh? How about it: if you’re free Sunday, why don’t you go ahead and come watch me play? Gloria there’s coming along, she’ll look after you.”

“Oh, I don’t know - I mean, if you’re sure? But I’ve lots to do - “

“You know, with all the awful guys we’re both dealing with right now, I think a bit of girl power would help you right out, honey. And anyway: something tells me it’ll be right up your street. Girls beating each other up and all that, huh?”

Peggy splutters incoherently, but Angie’s already bending over her table, writing something down on her notepad. Her shiny, coiffed hair is close enough to touch: if Peggy just leaned forward a little, she could bury her face in those brown curls, inhale a full lungful of their scent. Instead, she stays very, very still, not even daring to breathe.

“There you go, sugar”, Angie says, handing her a scrap of paper. “Ring me there, we’ll meet up Sunday. Won’t leave a girl waiting, now, will you?”

Peggy finally finds her voice and her resolve. “Absolutely not: I’ll see you there”, she says, and holds out a hand. “I’m Peggy Carter. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Pleasure’s all mine, Miss Carter”, Angie says. “I’m Angela Martinelli - at least, that’s what they’ll be writing up on the theatres one day, right? But you can call me Angie.” And with that, she’s off back towards the kitchen, high heels clicking on the polished floor. Peggy watches her go, letting out a little sigh. Oh, but she’s going to have it bad for this one.

Peggy finished up her tea and pie at a leisurely pace, then leaves a few bills on the table: enough to cover her meal, plus a large tip. As she’s about to leave, she hears Peggy shout through to the kitchen: “watch the floor for me, won’t you, Glor? Just skipping into the ladies’ room.”

On an impulse, Peggy looks around: the rude man from earlier is still sat at the table, sipping a coffee, his friend long gone. A second door to the diner is right behind his booth. Before she has time to think about it too much, she’s walking quickly over, grabbing a fork from a table on the way.

He glances up as she approaches, and looks her up and down with a wide grin. “Well, hey, beautiful, didn’t realise they’d be sending over another - “

Peggy leans over him and jams the fork into the soft flesh at his side, cutting him off mid-flow. “Don’t say another word. And don’t you dare look at anything again but my face, you hear me?”

He opens his mouth to speak, and she twists the fork under the table. He abruptly closes his mouth again.

“You can feel this, is that right? I can tell you that this fork can end up through your hand in the amount of time it’ll take you to think about moving - no, don’t move your hands now. That’s right”, Peggy says, speaking quietly, keeping an ear out for the swinging door of the bathroom. “Here’s how this is going to go. You’re not going to talk to that waitress again. You’re going to leave your payment, and you’re going to leave a very, very large tip. After that, you’re not to come back to this diner again. Do we understand each other? Just nod.”

He nods, and Peggy hears the bathroom door swing. She straightens up and tosses the fork onto the table. “That’s excellent”, she says in an undertone. “Have a good night.” Adrenaline pounding, the turns to give Angie a cheery wave, before heading for the door and out into the night.

Peggy takes around ten steps back towards the Triskelion before she reconsiders and turns for home. Between talking with Jarvis and spending all day bringing Thompson up to speed, it’s difficult not to feel as though her vigilante justice at the diner was the most useful good deed she’d managed that day: outside of the Shield offices, and off Shield time. She sighs as she walks to the subway: it’s time, perhaps, to ask if she can be moved back towards active duty.

Well, it’s not all bad. Peggy touches the folded paper in her pocket as she walks, and smiles at Angie’s blatant flirting, and her own returning it in kind. Roller derby - girls beating each other up, huh? She wonders whether she’ll have something interesting to share with Jarvis next week after all.

***


	2. Chapter 2

2.1.

Peggy takes the subway way, way out of Manhattan, to a non-descript station in Brooklyn that, as far as she can tell, is mostly residential.

Following maps on her phone, she finds herself outside a local sports centre, its outside festooned with posters. “PACIFIC SCRIM”, the largest one reads, in foot-high, industrial-block letters. There’s a monster claw-mark tearing down the middle of the poster, and another sign proclaims, “Join the Showdown! Team Kaiju Attack vs. Team Jaegerbomb!”

She’s charmed: the blue and black fonts, the over-the-top graphic design: someone obviously had a lot of fun designing these posters.

“Meet Gloria outside the centre cafe”, Angie’s text had read. “She’ll show you what’s going on - and you can both enjoy watching me cancel the apocalypse! Go Team Jaeger <3 “

The rest of Peggy’s week had passed in a blur: routine grillings from Dooley and now Thompson, most of which Daniel had kindly taken upon himself to deal with. No more news on the Hydra agents’ movements in London, though Morse had sent her several selfies of herself, May, and Simmons all hanging out with a bed-ridden Coulson in the local Shield safehouse. Peggy’s Saturday had been spent conference calling with the London team, and now, on Sunday, she’s relishing finally having some time to herself.

She’d gone back to the diner. Twice, in fact: bravado overcoming shyness, figuring Angie would be happy to see her. Angie hadn’t been there: Gloria had come out of the kitchen to say hello, and explain that Angie worked the night shifts, but she’d be sure to pass on Peggy’s regards. Peggy had sat there with tea and pie, skimming Angie’s twitter feed, and had texted her a selfie of herself eating pie.

“You’re early!”, Gloria exclaims, bounding up for a hug. Out of her work attire, she looks completely different: she’s dressed in jeans and a torn-up “Team Jaeger” t-shirt, with a septum piercing showing above strikingly-painted dark red lipstick. “That’s good”, she continues. “Plenty of time to get settled in. Come on! I’ll teach you the rules.”

They buy tickets from two hipster-looking girls at the desk, all tattoos and colourful, spiked-up hair. One is wearing a ‘50s-style circle dress, decorated with what look like rainbow roller skates: she looks Peggy up and down, grinning, before complimenting her on her own form-fitting apron dress. “Think it’ll be your kind of crowd here, hon”, Gloria says beside her, with a smile.

Inside, they pass a merch table offering up team shirts, badges, and face painting, before emerging out into a wide hall with bleachers set up to overlook an oval track. The track’s marked out with duct tape, and there’s a line of warning tape a few feet from the edge, against which eager spectators are already taking up floor space.

“Braver than I am”, Gloria says, following Peggy’s gaze. “They’re sitting right where players would wipe out: I’ve known folks to land a girl in the lap or even a skate to the face. Mind you, most of them are rollergirls anyway, so I guess they’re used to that sort of thing…”

Peggy’s looking around, scanning for a free place on the bleachers - high up, she wonders if she’ll see better from high up - when there’s suddenly a shriek in her immediate vicinity, followed by a skidding sound. Angie’s appeared right next to them - and oh, goodness - she’s so very tall. Perched on skates that add several inches to her height, and armoured up with knee pads and elbow pads and pads on her hands. She’s wearing robot-printed leggings, a glittery helmet covered in stickers, even more glitter covering her face, and an enormous grin.

Peggy wonders if she’s ever seen anyone look more beautiful.

“You made it!”, Angie says, throwing her arms around them both: her helmet squishes against Peggy’s ear, but she couldn’t care less. “English, it’s damned good to see you here! Glor, thanks for looking after her! Okay, I gotta go head to the bench: Coach’s got some stuff she wanted to go over before the first play. Y’all have fun, all right? Watch me kick some kaiju ass.”

She squeezes both their hands in her own, and then she’s speeding away, manoeuvring sharply past the gathering crowds and a couple of Jaegerbomb-shirt-clad skaters looping the track. Peggy watches her go, the steady push-and-pull of her legs almost hypnotic. Angie’s fast, and perfectly controlled: how much practice did it take her to get this good?

Gloria casts her a knowing look once Angie has landed herself down on the bench, and Peggy’s finally looked away. “Come on, then”, she says. “Let’s learn the rules.”

Once they’re settled, right behind an embracing couple sporting matching, freshly-buzzed undercuts, Gloria reaches over the grab the leaflet Peggy had been handed on the way in.

“Here we go”, she says, opening it up to a diagram of the track. “It’s simple, you’ll see soon enough. You’ve got two teams, right?” Peggy looks over at the team benches, and nods.

“Each team has a jammer: she’ll be the one with the star on her helmet. She goes fast around the track and through the pack to score points. The pack’s going to be four blockers, from each team: they stick together, and their job is to help their own jammer through, while blocking the other team’s jammer. So, maybe they’re up in both the jammer’s and the other team’s blockers’ faces, but it’s mostly the jammer they focus on. With me?” Peggy looks up at her, and nods again.

“One last thing. One blocker is also called the pivot: that’s the one with that stripe on her helmet, you see? She can become the jammer, if the jammer passes her the star cover from her helmet. Doesn’t happen often, but it’s exciting when it does.”

Peggy looks down again at the diagram: players are dotted over it, marked with stars and circles. “Yes, I think I’ve got it: thank you for explaining”, she says, looking up again at Gloria. “And: are they allowed to do anything? To fight through the pack, or to block the, er, jammer - the point-scorer?”

Gloria chuckles. “Oh, well: just about”, she says. “No elbows, is all. I’ve seen them all take a good few tumbles out there: mostly they learn just to get back up again and keep going. It’s a full contact sport: sure, there’s rules, but the nature of it is, it’ll be rough. It’s why most of them love it, is my understanding: no other sport like it, that’s both all-female and full-contact."

“All right”, Peggy says, slowly. Angie’s pride in her collection of bruises suddenly makes much more sense. That sounds… actually very interesting.” Between the punk, alternative looks of most of the players and the audience, and the rough, DIY look of everything from the track to the theming to the ticketing system, not to mention the players proudly wearing both armour and bruises: this is shaping up to be like no sport she’s ever seen before.

“Here we go: they’re starting!” Gloria calls, and Peggy looks out to see the players lining up alongside the track. “You’ll see what I mean, soon enough.”

*

The skaters, having been milling about haphazardly by their benches, start lining up in formation just as the huge speakers by the bleachers kick into life and blast out the Pacific Rim main theme. The bass notes thud right into Peggy’s chest, and she can feel her breathing start to quicken, and a grin start to spread across her face.

Beside her, Gloria is conducting an invisible orchestra and making “doof-doof” sounds to the music. She grins at Peggy, and leans over, shouting to be heard. “I love this movie! I was so glad when Angie said she’d be playing for the good guys!”

The skaters line up and run a lap around, the audience cheering them on as the commentators welcome the audience and read out the players’ names. Gloria lets out a massive whoop when they read, “1946: Lauren Break-All” - “that’s her!” she shrieks, pointing to where Angie is waving and smiling, gliding past on one leg. Angie catches Peggy’s eye, and snaps off a salute.

Kaiju Attack gather up at the far end of the hall, and the music cuts out, changing abruptly to the monsters’ main theme as the kaiju start their lap. Peggy only has eyes for Angie, though: she’s conferring with her teammates, punching one in the shoulder and leaning close to talk. A group of them gather by the edge of the track, Angie among them, but not wearing a star on her helmet: so she must be playing first, and as a blocker.

“Here they go!”, cheers Gloria as the music quiets down and stops: most of the teams are off to the bench, and two packs gather at the starting line: blockers ahead, and two jammers a few metres behind them, poised identically on their toes.

The whistle blows, and as the pack takes off, a recent pop-punk hit blasts out of the speakers at top volume. The whistle blows again a few seconds later, and the two jammers, different-coloured stars covering their helmets, actually _run_  - they balance on the brake-pads under the toes of their skates, and run forward, launching into identical glides just before they slam into the pack.

Angie’s linked arms with two of her fellow blockers: one’s a tall woman with curly, emerald-green hair sticking out behind her helmet, the other is someone shorter, with arms festooned with colourful tattoos. The three of them stagger under the impact, but remain standing, and are already moving sideways and forward as the jammer tries to build up speed again and break through.

Peggy can see Angie shouting instructions, and suddenly, she swings her taller teammate around in an arc, pushing her to knock a hip into the jammer. The jammer stumbles off-balance, then rights herself, but it’s already too late: the Jaeger team’s jammer has broken through the pack and is speeding ahead. Beside Peggy, Gloria cheers. “That means she’ll be scoring more points, this time round!” she shouts into Peggy’s ear. “The other one can still go, but she won’t score as many. Watch her go: she’s one of their fastest!”

Her name’s Ruby Grinder, the commentators say, and she skates like the wind: the moment she’s pulled away from the pack, Ruby’s bent over, with legs working in wide, strong arcs, arms mirroring them to keep up her momentum. It takes her less than ten seconds to shoot around the track and reach the pack once again, and this time, she aims left, then swerves sharply right when she’s just a metre away from the blockers. She skates round the outside edge of the track, and pulls away neatly without even a touch. Another cheer rises up from the crowd, and Peggy sees Angie fist-pump and yell something after her.

Ruby makes it two more laps before the whistle blows. “Each bout’s just two minutes, then they swap out”, Gloria says. “Usually, they can get a whole new pack in, and give the others a rest.” Sure enough, a new group is skating onto the track, numbers painted on their arms, some in torn-up team shirts and others in costume.

A new song rings out through the speakers, and they’re off, the commentators talking double-time, covering the players’ names, reminders of the rules, and explanations of what the refs in the centre are doing. Team Kaiju’s jammer breaks through, and a ref follows alongside her as she zips around the track, one of the ref’s arms pointed to her and the other pointed up. Another ref skates alongside Team Jaeger’s jammer, a few metres behind, waving their arms in slow arcs in front of them: Peggy guesses these different gestures must denote who is leading.

Watching the lead jammer hit the pack of blockers once again, Peggy’s suddenly reminded of how she’d fought her way out of a situation a few months previously. She’d been caught investigating files in a Hydra-owned safehouse, and, when her gun ran out, she’d ended up fighting back with whatever was on hand. One agent she’d knocked out with a chair, the other she’d hit with a large stapler until he’d collapsed out cold. What she’s watching feels, too, like pure, urgent physicality: the players scrambling every which way to get where they need to be. They’re not thinking about grace, or good form, only the the result they desire: and in that, there’s grace too, Peggy realises. They’re utterly single-minded, and they’re using the weapons they have to their fullest: the space taken up by their bodies, the force they can exert.

A couple of the Jaeger blockers are fat, and she watches one hip-check the Kaiju jammer so hard that she sends her sprawling to the floor. Half a second, and the jammer’s standing up again, gathering speed and throwing herself at the wall of blockers. The jammer is tall, but wiry, and as she approaches, she goes onto one leg, hopping neatly between two blockers and gliding out ahead on her other foot. Looking around at the benches, Peggy realises: these players have all kinds of bodies. Thin, fat, tall, short - and evidently, they’ve each got their own advantages to bring to the game.

The play’s done: the whistle blows, the music cuts out, and the commentators point out that team Kaiju have edged slightly ahead on the scoreboard. As the new teams skate out to the track, Gloria grabs Peggy’s arm in excitement and points. “Look! Angie’s jamming!”

Sure enough, Angie’s wearing the star on her helmet, and she high-fives one of her blockers on her way to take up position at the starting line.

She runs, and before Peggy has time to register it, she’s darted around the blockers and pulled out ahead of the pack. Gloria’s risen to her feet and is cheering, and Peggy yells and claps as Angie skates her lap around, straightening up to wave and smile as she passes the bleachers. As she approaches the pack again, Angie drops back down into skating position, and speeds up: at the last second, she swerves, and passes the pack neatly.

Her second lap, and Angie doesn’t stand and wave, though Peggy can see her smiling as the crowd’s cheer washes over her. She stays down, skating fiercely, breathing heavily. She makes it round two more laps before the whistle blows, and when the teams swap over, team Jaeger are ahead.

They carry on, players swapping in and out; Peggy soon loses track of time, watching the game, and it isn’t until the whistle blows to signal half-time that she realises that her throat is sore from cheering.

“And that’s a half hour!”, Gloria says, equally breathless beside her. “Only an hour for the game: else I’m sure they’d all collapse in complete exhaustion. Not to mention our poor frayed nerves! Come on: let’s get ice cream. There’s a van parked outside. You want to get Angie something?”

Peggy picks up ice lollies for the three of them, and, at Gloria’s insistence, runs one over to the bench where Angie is sitting. She’s got an arm around one of the jammers, congratulating her with expressive sweeps of her hands: it’s Ruby Grinder, their star point-scorer from the first play.

“English! But, you shouldn’t have”, Angie exclaims, lighting up at seeing Peggy. “Well: folks are going to think I’ve got groupies, these beautiful women bringing me snacks and everything. You going to mop my forehead, too? Better not: we’ll all be stinking like nobody’s business, soon enough.”

Peggy laughs. “Point taken”, she says, holding out the lolly at arm’s length. “I can assure you that you all at least look excellent out there, never mind the smell - well, at least from where we’re sitting. What an exciting game! It looks like a whole lot of fun.”

“Sure is, honey”, Angie says around a mouthful of ice. “How’s about: you’ll join us at the afterparty, huh? Give me a chance to introduce you all properly?”

“I’d like that very much”, Peggy says, beaming back at her. “Thank you - and, best of luck to you all in the second half!” She runs back to where Gloria is waiting, still smiling, light on her feet.

*

Team Jaeger wins. Angie holds tight on to both Peggy and Gloria’s hands all the way to the afterparty, swinging them back and forth, singing the Pacific Rim theme at the top of her voice.

***

 

2.2

Angie’s hair is shower-wet and pulled up into a messy, easy twist. She’s wearing torn-up jeans, combat boots, and a Team Jaeger t-shirt, and as she swings Peggy’s hand back and forth, Peggy finds she can’t quite stop staring at her. Her make-up is the remains of the bold, smeared-on reds of the match, and her team number is still visible under the arm of her shirt.

“Look at this, English”, she says, dropping Gloria’s hand and dragging up the sleeve of the arm that’s still holding Peggy’s. Above her number, there’s a fresh, livid abrasion burn: sharp lines standing out on scraped red skin. “Think I got that when I landed on Squirrel there: fishnets always burn the worst. Think it’ll scare the boss at the diner?”

Peggy smiles. “I certainly hope it might intimidate him, somewhat: not to mention your difficult customers. Anyone who can carry off bruises like this is clearly someone to not be trifled with.”

“Hear that, Glor?”, Angie grins. “ ‘m not to be trifled with. Boss’ll be surprised when he finds that out, huh? Gotta say, could do with a few more folks deciding they’d rather just go ahead and tip, rather’n making us both work so much for it. Maybe I’ll go invite someone for a few rounds out the back next time they send back a plate, huh?”

They’re walking in a ragged procession, game-hyped rollergirls wrapped around their friends and lovers. The back of a nearby bar has been booked out for them, Gloria had said: a big private space, and right next to a train stop too, for ease of getting home. Angie’s jammer friend Molly is walking ahead, her boyfriend now wearing her glittery helmet perched on his head, the jammer-star hanging off its strap. Angie had introduced Helen, one of her teammates, and her girlfriend Lorraine: the two of them had just moved into her household, and Lorraine had already endeared herself to the others by bringing a vast collection of movies for the communal pile.

“She was so flustered yesterday, when she realised she’d left a few toys in the dishwasher overnight”, Angie says in a delighted undertone. “Must’ve run them in the middle of the night and forgotten about them: Vera and I found them there in the morning. Thought she was going to die! Can’t stop saying sorry now, doesn’t even know yet how we’re both leaving panties and bras all up and down the banisters on wash day. She’ll work it out soon enough: not much need for subtlety once you’ve got ten girls all sharing a kitchen.”

She’s casual enough, but Peggy looks sideways shrewdly all the same: even as her mind fills with images of all the residents scrubbing down toys and lingerie in the communal sink, Peggy’s sure that Angie knows exactly what she’s doing. Have her stories enticed eager women home with her before? (And what has she done with them once they got there?) Has she even space in her life for someone for more than a few late nights? (And what’s in her own bedside tables? And how does she use them…?) Peggy’s mind stutters and dies on that last, and she squeezes Angie’s hand, suddenly overwhelmed.

“Hey, sweetheart”, Angie says, suddenly soft, as though she can read exactly what’s in Peggy’s mind. “Don’t even worry about it: we’re gentle with newbies here. The girls will look after you good and right.” With that, she slides a hand around Peggy’s waist, ducks under her arm and rests on her shoulder. Gloria’s dropped back a little to talk baking with Vera, and, wrapped up with each other, Peggy’s heart pounding, they enter the bar.

Someone’s run ahead and moved a lot of the posters from the sports centre onto the walls of the back room: everywhere Peggy looks, there are roaring monsters and giant robots up in each others’ faces, all of them on skates. Across the top of the bar, there’s a giant banner: “Kaiju Attack vs. Jaegerbomb! Cancel the apocalypse, or bring on the end of the world!” Underneath, printed sheets advertising derby specials from the bar jostle with flyers for upcoming bouts and discount offers from the local skate shops. And the whole place is packed out with rollergirls and their friends: Peggy looks around, and it’s a sea of asymmetric haircuts, colourful hair and make-up, bold tattoos, and team t-shirts.

Someone spots Angie, and lets up a cheer: “Let’s hear it for Lauren Break-All! Unstoppable jammer of the day: girl, you could’ve been greased up with butter, all the good my blocking did to slow you down!” She’s grinning, and Peggy recognises her as one of the skaters from the opposing team: she’d worked hard to block Angie right into the final seconds, coming back again and again as Angie slipped past her. Peggy had gasped at one point to see her falling over Angie’s skate, sprawling face-first, but she’d instantly stood up again and gotten into position to support her fellow blockers on the next round.

Angie claps her on the shoulder and pulls her into a hug. “You were amazing, honey: couldn’t believe how hard you worked out there”, she says. “Hey, you should meet English: this is Peggy, she’s new; Peggy, meet Chaos. Chaos coaches the newbies, so, y’know…” She waggles her eyebrows and elbows Peggy in the side. “Hey, I’ll get drinks: Chaos, you’ll look after her a minute, right? Whisky for you - and Peggy, tea again? Or something stronger?”

There’s an array of themed cocktails on the specials list: Peggy thinks fast, then just calls, “whatever you’re having!” as Angie squeezes her hand and lets go, weaving through the crowd. Peggy holds out a hand to Angie’s friend.

“How’d you like your first game, huh?”, the coach - er, Chaos - says, and Peggy’s lost for words for a moment. She settles on, “I’ve… never seen a sport quite so intense, I think. The amount of… contact, and everyone wrestling for positions: it looks like very hard work. I think in most sports, someone taking a hit like you did would be out of the game, or at least resting for a few rounds, but you, well…”

“Kind of you to say so”, Chaos says. “Always say, derby’s not about how hard you can hit: it’s about how hard you can be hit, and still go ahead and pick yourself up and carry on. Come back another round. And y’know, I’ve seen a lot of my newbies, they come in, they don’t know how strong they can be. Think they’ll get knocked down and they’ll just break: but you teach them to fall, you teach them to take a hit, and they learn they’re not so breakable. That they can pick themselves up and keep playing. And, of course”, she breaks into a laugh, “it’ll be more to show off at the bar later. See over there?” She points, to where two other members of team Jaegerbomb have pulled their skirts aside and are comparing the large purple bruises blooming over their thighs.

Peggy laughs as the pair punch each other in the arm, then high-five. “It’s certainly lovely to see strength so celebrated: and as you say, particularly as something that people can learn and cultivate. I think… most other sports I’ve seen, people simply continue something they were good at at school. Here, they must have come along through friends, or because it’s interesting. Is that right?”

“Sure is”, nods Chaos. “Folks here start as adults, and many of them - not all, mind you - never thought they were any good at sports, or team exercise or what have you. Didn’t believe we’d made such a thing till they saw it for themselves. I had that, of course: no-one’s going to be interested in helping big girls like me get all lithe and graceful for gymnastics, or do fancy footwork in ball sports. Took a friend dragging me out here to realise there’s a place for us to be handy on a team, too. Least I can do is try and show others the same.”

“Of course”, Peggy says, thinking of her own training. She could go and learn fast takedowns and graceful hits from the martial arts department at Shield, but somehow had only found enough enthusiasm to complete the mandatory training. Knocking out enemies with whatever was available - chairs, office equipment, occasional headbutts - didn’t make her feel quite as much the slick, smooth secret agent as Maria Hill or the Black Widow, but it certainly did the job.

Angie comes back, balancing drinks in her outstretched hands: whisky on the rocks for Chaos, and two tall, brightly-coloured cocktails for herself and Peggy. The cocktails are layered: they’re green liquid topped off with a thick, sticky layer of bright blue, with pink sugar encrusted around the glass rims and stirrers shaped like purple tentacles draped over the sides of the glasses. “Well”, says Peggy, taking hers. “This must be one of the most ridiculous things I’ve seen.”

“Aren’t they great?”, Angie beams. “It was these, or some kinda silver-looking things with wrenches sticking out. They call it the ‘Hidden Kraken’, but we’ll try the ‘Mecha Blaster’ next, huh?” She clinks with them both, and Peggy takes a long drag through the curly straw provided: it’s sickly-sweet and tangy, as though someone had melted up sweets and mixed them in with lime juice. “It’s good, huh?”, Angie says around her own straw, and all at once, Peggy lets go of her long-cultivated drink snobbishness, and grins back at her. “It’s certainly quite something.” There’ll be other times for sipping rare cognacs and whiskies: with syrup on her tongue, and watching Angie investigating her drink’s tentacle with sugar on her cheek and light in her eyes - this, Peggy thinks, is perfect.

On an impulse, Peggy reaches out and wipes the sugar from Angie’s cheek: Angie’s eyes follow her finger, then widen as she takes it to her mouth and licks it clean. Peggy had forgotten they were accompanied: she jumps when Chaos clears her throat.

“Well, then!”, Chaos says. “Why don’t I go ahead and leave y’all to… yeah. Catch you later, huh, Angie?”

“No, no!”, Angie says. “Sorry: it’s fine, I was going to introduce Peggy here to a few more of the girls anyway. You’ll join us, huh? We’ll do a quick tour.”

Gloria has vanished into a corner of the bar, where a group of people have pulled out a board game and are setting up pieces. She catches Peggy’s eye and waves as they pass, Angie leading her towards a gaggle of rollergirls gathered by the bar, trading sips of different cocktails and flirting with the staff. Angie drags them right into the middle of the group, and breathlessly goes about rattling off names to Peggy: most of them seem to live in the same house.

There’s Vera, long-time friend of Angie’s and resident rollergirl baker: her tightly curled, black hair is dyed emerald green at the tips, and she’s applied bold lilac eyeliner to match the lilac number on her arm. She offers Angie and Peggy intricately decorated cupcakes: they’re covered in a layer of bright green marzipan, with a silver gear picked out in icing on top. “You’re too good to me, Vera”, Angie says, hugging her closely and tucking her head under her friend’s chin. Peggy offers her a gulp of her cocktail in return: they’ve moved on to matching Mecha Blasters, a sweet cola base with rum and a layer of silver spray covering the top, the ice cubes, the straw, and now Peggy’s hands.

Carol’s a housemate as well: she doesn’t play, but sits on the bench as their first aider. She’s a nurse, and high-fives Angie when she shows her her fishnet burns. “Nice to have someone else around working funny hours”, Angie says as Carol nods. “Oftentimes when I’m leaving at three or four in the morning, Carol’s just getting in: scared me half to death the first couple times, tiptoeing around so as not to wake the others.”

Helen and Lorraine are familiar from Angie pointing them out earlier: they’re wrapped up close together, sharing drinks. Helen’s experienced, Angie says: she’s one of their strongest jammers, and had recently joined Chaos in coaching up newbies, in the hope that more players would try out jamming. Lorraine’s acquiesced to being dragged in to newbie training: she’d started only last month, and hoped to take part in a newbie game in a few weeks’ time. They wander off soon after being introduced, aiming for a darker corner, and leaving Angie and Peggy by themselves.

“So what you’re saying”, Peggy says, knocking into Angie’s shoulder with her own, “is that signing up for newbie training in roller derby is an ideal way to spend some time around… other players? Perhaps certain other players, in particular?”

Peggy turns to look at Angie directly, still leaning gently against her shoulder, and watches as a cheeky grin spreads over Angie’s face, and her eyes dart down to her mouth, and up again. “Oh, English”, she says, smooth as anything, “you’d know, of course, I’d only be encouraging you towards derby ‘cause it’s a fun and wholesome way to spend a weekend. Lovely exercise. Very nice.Unless, that is, you’re wanting to spend a bit of time on track with… some players?”

_What the hell_ , Peggy thinks, and slowly, deliberately, looks down to Angie’s mouth, then up again, before she speaks. “What’s that you were saying, before? Girls beating each other up on track - think that’s something you’d like? You could… have more of?”

Angie blinks for a long moment, looking into Peggy’s eyes as though she’s not quite sure what to say. Straightening her shoulders, and taking a deep breath, Peggy leans forward: slowly, still watching Angie’s eyes, careful to make sure that what she’s doing is fine, that it’s wanted. It could be full minutes before her lips finally fit to Angie’s; it could be no time at all, and half a second later, that difference is meaningless, because Angie’s made the tiniest little sound under her, and sagged slightly before rising up, not breaking contact, and pressing back up against her.

She’s soft: she’s soft all over, Peggy thinks. She places her drink on the bar without looking, and as Angie’s lips part under hers, she slides both arms slowly around Angie’s waist. Angie’s hands have found the belt loops in her dress and are pulling her forward, flush against her own body, and Peggy feels that motion thump straight through to her core. She can feel Angie everywhere: in her quickening heartbeat, and the small gasp she lets out into Angie’s mouth as Angie moves a leg to come closer into her space. Angie’s thigh close and warm between her own, moving -

Peggy breaks away, panting a little, leaning her forehead on Angie’s and catching her breath. She strokes mindlessly up and down Angie’s sides, staying close: she feels as though she wants to run her hands along the curves of Angie’s waist, her flaring hips, for ever.

“So”, Peggy says as her heartbeat slows, as she nudges Angie’s nose with her own and smiles at her. “You were saying something about spending time with certain other players, hmm? Why don’t you tell me: how do I sign up?”

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, roller derby! I'm on [tumblr](https://jeffcatson.tumblr.com/), come say hello!


	3. Chapter 3

 

3.1.

That Monday, Peggy arrives at work early, flushed brightly with an early-morning exchange of texts. Angie was working an early shift at the diner: she’d sent her a photo of herself posing with her morning coffee, all coiffed and work-professional already by 5am. “Stop by tomorrow for pie”, she’d said. “I’m finishing around 8, so why don’t we go find trouble around town?”

Peggy pauses once she enters the office: Daniel is in even earlier than she is, and his face, closed-off and furrowed as he pores over his laptop, tells her immediately that something is very wrong.

She puts away her phone as she strides towards him. “Is everything all right?”

He looks up. “Peggy. I’m so glad you’re here: I don’t know what to do. The Hydra agents: they’ve made their move. They’ve taken two of our agents - they must have known they were there. They’ve disappeared with them.”

Peggy’s heart drops through her stomach. They knew they were there - what else did they know? Did they have intelligence on all their agents in the vicinity? All their movements? Would they slide easily around the barriers she and Daniel had carefully put into place, and carry out their plans unencumbered?

She asks the most important question first. “Who?”

Daniel’s morose face makes her dread the answer. “Coulson and May.”

Peggy turns away and swears loudly, bringing her fist down hard onto a neighbouring table. Coulson and May: they’d had a completely different mission. They’d joined to help out Morse and Simmons out of kindness for fellow colleagues; they were among their best agents. The lot of them were friends: utterly committed to Shield, with full respect for each others’ professionalism. And Peggy thinks - oh, but Simmons must be terrified. Her first time in the field, and this happens…

Peggy takes a breath. May and Coulson are competent, clever agents: it’s unlikely that May, in particular, will allow any harm to come to either of them. It could even be that May decides she’s better placed to gather intelligence from a hostage position: it wouldn’t be the first time she’s taken an opening and barrelled in without checking back with base, and Peggy well knows she’s competent and effective.

“It’s not all bad”, Daniel says, speaking fast, as though he’s read her mind: doubtless, he’s followed the same thought process as she has. “May managed to conceal a small communicator. She’s been transmitting messages to us: they’re in Morse, and slow, so we think they’re under constant surveillance. But I wouldn’t put it past her to have planned something like this: it’s not the first time we’ve found agents gathering intel while being held.”

Peggy nods ruefully, remembering the Widow’s training session on subversive interrogation. “I hope that’s the case. But she could have at least let us know: and I hope she warned Coulson before taking him into a situation.”

“Coulson trusts her completely: I doubt that he would have objected, even if she did spring it as a surprise. In any case: she’s transmitted a position, but is warning us not to take action just yet. She wants to gather and send on what intel they can find: it sounds as though they’re being complacent about talking in front of the prisoners. So far, she knows there’s a bomb involved, and something about New York: she thinks they’re referring to the Chi’tauri invasion, and may not, in fact, be targeting New York directly. I’ve recommended air patrols around the Avengers’ tower be doubled, in any case.”

“That’s good”, Peggy says. “Inform the Triskelion, as well: we’re close enough to Washington that an attack could swerve last-minute and take them unawares. Are our other local agents briefed on the situation? I want them changing positions every six hours, if possible: make sure Hydra can’t take them in as well. No doubt May and Coulson will want the support when it’s time for them to take their leave.”

Daniel nods, already typing out instructions. “I’ll send our agents an itinerary of local safe houses and times to move: I think I’ll alternate safe houses with mostly-public local areas, if that works?” At Peggy’s nod, he continues. “May’s been quiet for the last few hours, but we’re not concerned just yet: she said they’re keeping them unharmed, and even fed, so far, and that she’ll be in touch again when possible. She suspects they’re keeping them to use as leverage later: stands to reason, if they’re planning something, more bargaining power’s going to be useful. In any case: I’ve left her transmissions on your desk, so you can decide on our next moves.”

“Thank you, Daniel”, says Peggy, already heading to her own desk. It feels good to have a plan: the agents feel in control, they’re able to transmit information, and they’ve ample backup nearby if they need to break out. She knows May is correct, as well: with all of Peggy and Daniel’s cold leads, it’s about time someone closer came up with some real information.

Sure enough, May gets back in touch just two hours later. Daniel leans over Peggy’s desk as she takes the call: _six operatives minimum. All Hydra loyalists, think science division based. Some talk of bomb, unclear: reference to past New York attack. More when possible. C. and I fine._

_Not directly targeting New York, then_ , Peggy codes back. _Glad you’re fine, let us know when not. Got local extra agents ready to provide backup when needed. Don’t wait on asking._

Peggy pores over maps and blueprints, and goes over the Battle of New York from all the known angles. She has Daniel send Thompson and Dooley a quick report on what’s changed so far: thankfully, they leave her mostly undisturbed, except to clarify a couple of points on exact locations. It isn’t until she steps out to find a sandwich for lunch, several hours later, that she even remembers Angie. She’d only just been about to text her back.

She checks her phone over lunch, to find six missed texts from Angie, all variations on “work is boring. how’s your day going?” and “dude sent back a thing three times, sigh. what’s up with you?” Peggy feels a guilty flash of exasperation: she’d told Angie she worked as a secretary at the phone company. She couldn’t be blamed for assuming that she spent long days trying to look busy, while having plenty of time left over for chatting.

That’s when the first, cold trickle of doubt slides into Peggy’s head: almost underhanded, almost as though she could unfocus, and pretend it’s not even there.

_What are you doing?_

Yesterday had been a glimpse into a different world: one in which people could speak freely about their jobs and leave them behind when they went home. One in which people finished work on time, and could predictably commit to extra activities: ones in which friends relied on them to show up, and be present. Ones in which people could kiss anyone they liked. In which they could get close to anyone, safe in the knowledge that person couldn’t be used as leverage by some shadowy organisation with a nefarious agenda.

_What are you doing?_

Angie’s friends were punks: working at interchangeable, dead-end jobs; not needing to consider standards of professional dress; free to be tattooed and pierced and bruised and to leave work early and come in tired. Derby was their life. Derby was Angie’s life - well, that and her dreams of acting. Peggy, with her long hours, her secretive work life, her changing the subject whenever work came up: what could she offer? How could she make Angie’s life better?

She should have just dated someone at Shield.

Peggy finishes her sandwich, and texts Daniel to let him know she’s on her way back. She texts Angie, too. _Sorry: caught up at work! I’ll come by tomorrow for pie when I can. See you soon._ She doesn’t add kisses, and feels guilty for it all the way back to the office, where juggling agents’ safety once again takes up all of her mind.

***

 

3.2

“Hey, stranger!”, Angie says as soon as Peggy walks through the diner’s door the next day. “You sit yourself right down: we’ve just finished up the most gorgeous pumpkin pie that you’ve gotta try.” She sweeps off to the kitchen, putting together milk and sugar by a teapot, serving up pie with extra whipped cream.

“So, what’s up?”, she says, sliding into the booth opposite Peggy. “I can stay a couple minutes: I just checked in with the folks over there, and they’re regulars in any case: very happy to come right over if they need anything.”

Peggy pauses in breaking off a forkful of pie. “It’s been okay: thank you. How’s everything here? Oh - and when are you finishing this evening: is it another late night?”

“Night got late already, hon: didn’t you see? You must have been working hard. It’s past eleven already”, Angie says. “Finish up at midnight: back in tomorrow noon. Not so bad. Hey, you should come by the Griffith for breakfast sometime! If I’m working a weekend, it’s not usually till noon either: I can give you a tour.”

The Griffith is Angie’s household: a big, sprawling shared co-op home to around a dozen people, mostly rollergirls and their friends. Angie had explained that it used to be a hotel exclusively for women: “back just after the war, when folks were all worried about young ladies and their virtue, you know! Kept gentlemen right out. These days, everyone’s welcome, of course.”

“Oh: well, that sounds lovely”, Peggy says, fumbling for the words. “I… I’ll have to think about that, I’ll check if there’s a Saturday I don’t need to be at work…”

“Got you there all hours, huh? Damn shame, too: can’t even imagine what could be so urgent over at the telephone company, not as though folks aren’t signing up with their contracts every hour of the day… what is it, your boss think they’re god’s gift or something, need to keep you there urgently so often?”

“… something like that”, Peggy says. “Look, Angie, I… listen, work’s rather full-on at the moment. And… I can’t imagine that that’s going to change at any time soon. I’m… I’m not sure, er, how much I can give. Right now.”

Angie looks at her for a long moment: just listening, a serious, attentive look on her face. When Peggy runs out words, she opens her mouth, thoughtful. “You mean you’re not sure about signing up for the derby course yet, right? I can understand that, it’s a big commitment and a long time and everything, but if you wanted to you’d still be welcome when you can: it would just take longer is all - “

“- No, Angie, sorry: I mean, I mean, this. As well. I don’t think I can do this, what we’re doing.”

Angie huffs out a breath. Peggy wants to babble, to apologise, fill up the space somehow, but she bites her tongue and leaves Angie space to speak. Angie starts a couple of times, then cuts herself off, then -

“Well, can you or can’t you? Don’t just come up and say you’re not sure about it, if it’s your decision then you go ahead and make it - “

“I can’t. I’m sorry. I can’t, and that’s definite: it’s just not possible. Not with how work is at the moment. Everything’s too busy and intense and, and, I just wouldn’t be able to be, to be something good. In your life. I wouldn’t be able to be there.”

“Kinda feel like that’s my decision to make, if I’m happy with what you have to offer”, Angie says, quiet now. “But it’s your decision, and if it’s going to make you miserable too, no point in that.”

They’re both silent for a long moment, neither sure what to say.

“You know, English, I’d be happy with whatever you’ve got to offer”, Angie says, at last. “Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to balance different timetables and energy levels with someone. I don’t really understand, how your work could keep you there quite so many hours, and take so much, but whatever: that’s your business, it ain’t mine. Whatever you’ve got: I’d take it. I… I really… well, I don’t know if you get something like this every other weekend, or whatever, but I don’t, you see. I’m not so quick to just go ahead and trash it, first sign of trouble. But whatever. It’s your choice.”

Peggy nods miserably. “I understand. Thank you. I’m sorry. I… I really like you too.”

“So you do something about it, how about that, English?” She sounds angry now, and Peggy realises she’s blinking back tears, furious with herself for it. Angie sniffs, flaps her hands vaguely at the table, and knocks over the empty milk jug. “You come in and feel sorry for yourself, you don’t commit to the decision and you make it my problem? Make me say the words? No: I’ve said my piece. You take this, or you leave it: just know I’m flexible. I’ll take what you can give. And frankly I’m - I’m offended you’d think otherwise.”

“I understand”, says Peggy, not even able to meet her eyes now. All she can think of is the memory of Angie’s curves under her hands, her mouth soft under hers, and she wants to sob, wants to apologise and take it all back, just wants Angie to feel better again. Instead, she says, “yes. That’s my decision. I can’t date at the moment: it’s not personal, and I’m sorry. I can’t take on a new hobby at the moment, either.”

“You going to tell me you want to be friends or something then, huh? Or not even that?” Angie stands up, grabs a tray and starts clearing Peggy’s table, banging cups and plates against each other.

“I… I would like that. If you would. Please. Angie, I’m sorry - this, this is really good. I want to do this - I want to so much, but - “

“You’re making it my problem again, honey”, Angie says with a sigh. “Look: let’s do friends. Text me when you want to have coffee, all right? Like I say: I’ll take what you’ve got. But right now, I gotta get home. Got stuff to do. This is on the house, all right? I’ll see you - I’ll see you around.”

Angie turns away, and lets out a single, almighty sniffle, and then, before Peggy can speak, she’s bustling away. She doesn’t look back: simply tidies up the plates and tea, then goes to attend to the other customers, and Peggy, taking her cue, heads on home.

***

 

3.3

The week doesn’t get any better. Thompson doesn’t pick up any new information, and Dooley takes this out on Daniel and Peggy, calling them in to give updates and answer questions every half hour. May goes quiet, worrying everyone in the office, then reappears, with no new intel. “Bit concerned they’ve stopped feeding us”, she types to Peggy. “I’d think we’d lost our value, but more likely seems they’re scared: not sure what to do, and running out of resources for themselves.” Peggy checks in with her agents, cross-checks their information, and fidgets, restless. Hydra are waiting, and so must they.

Angie doesn’t text, evidently trying to give Peggy space to engage as she’d like to. Then, Angie does text, but keeps things friendly and light: “doozy of a practice tonight! Taking Vera home for ice-packs and brandy, best cure for a faceplant I know”; “hope work’s going okay for you! we’re being kept busy here too, both Gloria and I going overtime”. Peggy doesn’t reply, not sure what to say, and after a day or so, Angie stops texting.

She meets Jarvis on Thursday, and isn’t sure what to do. He asks after her weekend, teases gently on whether she’s found any adventures to have, and she brushes him off, face morose. He doesn’t push it: simply chats away on Ana’s exhibition, on the old cat they’ve just adopted. Patrons are lining up, and she’s pleased with the results, he says: aside from good sales, Ana’s happy to have seen a wide range of different people pass through the gallery, from schoolkids to art students to a few old folks, all enthusiastic about art, all asking interesting questions. It’s why she does it, Jarvis says: creation is all very good, but it’s the facilitating of conversations that she really loves. Peggy thinks about Ana’s generosity: giving so much of herself, and making space for so many more people in her life, and feels even more wretched.

Jarvis gives her a long hug goodbye, and pats her shoulder as she squeezes his middle. “Darling: far be it from me to presume, and by no means feel you have to share anything you’re not ready to. But do remember: whatever it is, or whoever it is: you’re a most excellent person, and a loyal and valued friend. Anyone would be lucky to have you in their life. If they can’t understand or appreciate whatever you have to offer, then, well, that’s all the more a shame for them. All right?”

Peggy just nods, buried in his shoulder, eyes filled with tears. Oh, but she has it bad for this one. Her guilt and shame haven’t been assuaged by distance in the least: rather, she finds herself wondering what Angie’s doing for most of the day, nose buried in paperwork but mind very much elsewhere. Is she busy with work and derby and her housemates, Peggy far from her mind? Has she thrown herself into something or someone else, to take her mind off Peggy? And, most pressingly: is there still space in her life, for Peggy to change her mind?

“Thank you, Jarvis”, Peggy says, disentangling herself. “Same time next week, yes?” He smiles at her, squeezes her shoulders, and takes his leave, and Peggy sits down again, mind whirling with questions.

Could Peggy change her mind? Could she still have something with Angie, be it friendship or more? Or has she irrevocably burnt those bridges, if not with her words then with her subsequent silence? She ponders this all the way back to the office: sitting at her desk, she’s considering texting Angie, when suddenly Dooley looms over her.

“Carter. Boardroom. Now.”

Something’s happened. Daniel summarises the situation, speaking in a quiet, rapid tone. May and Coulson are out. They’re fine - he emphasises this quickly - but something inside the base changed, and they decided the best course of action would be to take their leave. It didn’t go well: they ended up in a firefight, and Coulson’s been shot. They’ve made arrangements to have him extracted, and May will accompany him to the local base, before joining up again with Simmons and Morse.

They’re fine, and it sounds as though nothing could have been done to help, but Dooley’s insistent that greater vigilance could have helped prevent them from being surprised at such a rapid status change. He suggests that Peggy and Daniel set up a rota such that one of them can always be in the office, ready to respond: Peggy argues that they need each other to work through the intel, and that they could just as easily switch out being available on emergency call. Dooley snatches that compromise immediately, having them work out a rota there and then: three nights alternating being on call each, and then alternate Sundays.

Peggy spends the rest of the day in communication with May, who seems shaken but professional. Coulson will be fine, but she’s happy to be escorting him back to Shield regardless. She makes light of it: talking about Simmons’ awkward flirting, Morse’s wry teasing, and May herself rolling her eyes at them both. Despite herself, Peggy laughs, remembering long, quiet nights in the field, the unique camaraderie shared with other agents. She catches herself looking over at Dooley’s office a few times, and sighing: oh, but she misses the field.

It’s late once Peggy finishes, May herself working out the time and telling her to get home for some sleep. Peggy barely notices her steps carrying her towards the door of the diner until she’s already there, looking through the glass to where Angie’s blurred form is running plates back and forth. Is there still space in Angie’s life for something, perhaps friendship? Peggy pauses, and thinks: well. Might as well find out. She pushes open the door, and sits herself down at the bar.

It’s a few moments before Angie notices she’s there: enough time for Peggy to slip off her coat, get comfortable, and think about exactly what she’d like to say. Sorry for vanishing off the map entirely? Hope everything’s fine with you?

Angie turns around, and her eyes widen to see Peggy sitting at her bar. She’s still so beautiful, Peggy thinks: hair shining, eyes bright if a little red-rimmed. “Hey”, Angie says, soft and slow. “Long time no see. What can I do for you?”

Peggy smiles at her, a little brittle, and very tired. “I just thought… if it’s all right. I thought I could tell you about my day.”

***


	4. Chapter 4

 

4.1.

They’re friends. It’s nice, Peggy tells herself, even as she finds herself drifting off at work or at home, letting the kettle boil dry as she loses herself in daydreams of Angie’s smile, her eyes, the feeling of her hips under Peggy’s hands. She shakes off the daydreams when she goes to see Angie for tea: friendship, they can do. Peggy’s decided that, and she’s damned well going to stick to it.

Which is how she finds herself standing, tall and wobbly, on borrowed skates. She’s one in a row of ten newbies, listening to Chaos explain the rules of roller derby.

Peggy’s fixed her eyes on a paint mark on the opposite wall, doggedly keeping herself balanced, determined not to fall from standing. Two of the group have already gone sprawling to the floor: they’d been eyeing the experienced players practising at the other side of the hall, following their movements. Peggy’s not going to make that mistake. She breathes, watches the wall, even as she’s aware of Angie skating in the corner of her vision, doubtless doing neat tricks to show off for the wide-eyed new recruits. 

“First thing we’ll teach you today is how to fall”, Chaos is saying, and Peggy drags her attention back to the coach. “Too many folks, they’re afraid of it, or think that never falling over is what’s going to make them better skaters. Let’s get that out of the way first: this is not the case. You learn to fall right, you learn to fall safely, and you’ll be happier getting into sticky situations: cause you’ll know how to keep yourselves from getting injured. All right: two at a time. Show me how you’re going to skate forward, and go down onto one knee.”

Angie’s across the hall, skating backwards in front of someone, chatting away as she weaves in and out of her fellow skaters. Peggy takes her attention back to the paint mark, slightly above the coach’s head.

The floor feels very far away. Peggy takes a few cautious slides forward, then drops a knee down and lets herself fall down onto it. It feels like a long time waiting, then all at once she’s out of control, and then she’s thumped down onto the floor: stable and balanced. She straightens up, and tries again. The other knee’s trickier: she overbalances, and catches herself on her opposite elbow pad before sprawling sideways: but she still sees Chaos cast her an approving nod before turning away.

As the coach helps everyone else, Peggy practices: going onto one knee, then both knees, then knees and elbows. She tries skating faster, then throwing herself at the ground in ever-more-elaborate tumbles, finding out how it feels to trip, or slide. She remembers basic training: throwing herself repeatedly into mud, then crawling along on her elbows. She works out that, wherever she is, however she’s overbalancing: she can always throw herself forwards and land safely on her pads. By the end of the exercise, she’s breathing heavily, elated.

“Good work!” Chaos says. “Right. Take a lap. Slow as you want.”

The other skaters are still out on the track, practising fast turns at speed, but Peggy figures they’re used to avoiding new players. She starts off slowly, speeding up when she’s halfway around and about to pass Angie, who spots her as she’s doing a full turn.

“Looking good, English!”, Angie shouts. As Peggy glides past, Angie holds out a hand, and Peggy sticks out her own awkwardly, letting Angie come close enough to tap it in a gentle high-five. “You’ll be doing cartwheels in no time, you’ll see”, Angie grins, before speeding off. Peggy smiles, watching her as she goes, then redoubles her efforts to finish up the lap.

“Great work! Same again, faster now: okay?”, Chaos says as the newbies return to her: a spread-out, ragged line. Like ducklings coming home, Peggy thinks. “Aim for the orange tape I’ve marked out: you see it? That’s the diamond. That’s the shape you’ll want to skate to go as fast as you can, later.”

The diamond has four shallow corners around the track, going close to the inside and then spreading far to the outside. Peggy leads the group in peeling away, pushing up her courage to go faster. She falls twice on the first lap, and lets a few skaters move ahead of her before heaving herself up again and carrying on.

“That’s good”, Chaos says when they return. “You’ll hear folks say this a lot, I’m sure: you fall, you get back up and you keep going. Derby’s not about how hard you can hit. It’s about how hard you can be hit, and keep on going. All of you: you’re going to learn you’re not breakable. You’re strong, and you can take some real hard hits and carry on. All right! That’s it for now: get some more laps in, let yourselves fall some more, and then we’ll finish up. Next time we’ll do sharp stops and turns: if you need to stop in the meantime, just let yourselves fall over. It’ll do the same job.”

Peggy doesn’t need to be invited twice: she’s already taking off around the track, skating fast to where Angie is circling one teammate, laughing with her as her feet slide criss-crosses along the floor.

*

“Come skate with us on Saturday?”, Angie says, flushed bright with exertion and adrenaline. They’re changing after practice, surrounded by noisy, energetic rollergirls, parading around, jostling at the mirror. Angie’s curling her hair: she’s off for a late shift at the diner, and had said she couldn’t stay long. That hasn’t stopped her from talking Peggy’s ear off for the last ten minutes on extra practices and social skating sessions, but Peggy’s hardly about to remind her she should be off.

“It’s all easy, friendly like”, Angie says, letting out a lock of hair and making an approving sound. “We just meet up and skate around town a bit: usually through and around the park, then on a few quiet streets where there’s not much traffic. There’s this gorgeous brunch place we end up at: big group of us, masses of pancakes and bacon and shakes. Just what you need after skating! And it’s a great way to get some practice: you’ll come along, right?”

Peggy doesn’t even think about work before she’s nodding in agreement: imagining skating with Angie out in the sunlight, the two of them part of a huge group taking over the streets, getting to zip quickly around and in between the other rollergirls.

“Yes”, she says, meeting Angie’s eyes in the mirror and returning her bright smile. “I’d love to.” 

*

Saturday dawns bright and clear, and Peggy swings by the office on her way to the park, dropping reports at the front desk. She doesn’t go upstairs: not even when the receptionist tells her Daniel is up there already, working on something with May. She’d spoken with May herself the previous day, working out their next moves: there’s no more she can do for now, and whatever Daniel’s doing, it can wait. Peggy has somewhere to be.

She spots the group in Central Park easily: tall girls on skates, helmets glittering in the sunshine, sticker-covered pads. Angie’s lying in the grass with a couple of what Peggy recognises as her housemates: they’re eating cinnamon rolls out of a bag, and chatting animatedly. Other girls are stretching, or already skating back and forth, impatient to be off.

Peggy throws herself down onto the soft grass beside Angie, and leans over her to snag a roll.

“Lovely morning for it, wouldn’t you say?”, she opens, all casual cheer, and sits back to watch Angie’s delight at seeing her all kitted out. Peggy has dug out her own ancient skates and re-laced them with ribbon, she’s borrowed pads and a helmet, and she’s wearing extra-bright makeup, because, well, why on earth not?

Angie blinks for a few moments, a goofy smile spreading over her face, and, as Peggy bites into the roll, smiling back blithely, she recovers some of her composure.

“All the better for seeing you here, honey. So glad you could make it! We’re going to have a whole lot of fun today”, Angie says. “How are you doing? Not too beaten up since practice?”

“Not bad at all: thank you”, Peggy replies. “I’ll look forward to earning a few more serious scrapes once training moves on to tackles. Honestly, I’m excited to do more! The speed of everything, and the wrestling and shoving - “

“Good, huh?”, Angie grins. “Well: today’s not about competition, so you can dial it back, tiger. We’re just enjoying a nice, friendly morning in the park: and, well, if a few folks want to challenge each other to some speed races, or if they want to get dirty on uncrowded stretches - well, I’m sure that’s all good, gentle fun, too. Shall we?”

Helen’s brought along some kind of rucksack-boombox arrangement, and she skates a little way ahead, letting out a mixture of riot grrl, pop punk, and Ani diFranco. Peggy makes her way to the back, where she can see where everyone’s going in plenty of time, and where she can watch as Angie pushes off hard to race Vera around a small square up ahead.

Angie loops between the other girls, exchanging pleasantries, skating backwards to chat with them, sometimes speeding out ahead to race a few, or to circle a bench or ice-cream stand before returning to the group. Peggy focuses on going slow and careful: she skates on her own, soaking up the music and the sunshine, and she’s a little surprised when Angie suddenly skids up behind her.

“Come on, hon: let’s see if we can get you going faster!”, Angie says, deftly skating in perfect time behind Peggy. “You okay with trying something? I want to see if I can push you along.”

At Peggy’s nod, she plants her hands on Peggy’s hips, and leans forward into them. Peggy feels a dizzying moment of overbalancing, and her pace stutters: Angie’s hands are warm and firm, holding her tightly. They bring up a sense-memory in perfect clarity: that kiss, the feel of Angie’s hands moving up her back, holding her sides -

“Goodness! Well - of course. Anything you like”, Peggy says, relieved that the words, at least, come out steady.

“Anything, huh? Well, you’ll go and give a girl ideas, offers like that - but here, come lean back into me, and keep your feet straight. Don’t worry, I’ll keep us both balanced.”

Then, all at once, she’s pushing off fast - she must be running on her toe-stops, there’s no other way to get this kind of acceleration - Peggy yells out involuntarily, and they’re suddenly in sync, fast, faster rattling along the asphalt, Peggy leaning back and letting herself be pushed along. She has a sudden image of being glued to the front of a speeding train: out of control, all she can do is enjoy the ride.

Sunlight flashes across Peggy’s face as they speed beneath the wide-spaced trees, Angie deftly manoeuvring them between joggers and pedestrians. They’ve left the other skaters far behind, now, speeding around the edge of a great lake at the park’s centre. At last, Angie lets go, shouting to Peggy to keep going, and Peggy lets out a whoop as she keeps going, fast and alone. She lifts up a foot and pushes off, maintaining her speed, pavement rattling under her wheels, Angie’s whoops falling behind.

They skate another long arc around the lake, the rest of the group nowhere to be seen, all Peggy’s apprehension gone in the pure, blazing joy of the ride. When the two of them finally collapse, it’s onto a grassy, sun-soaked bank.

Peggy breathes heavily, looking up at the sky, crossed over with leaf-heavy branches. Angie’s folded up beside her: she looks down at Peggy, grinning broadly, and reaches to clap her on the shoulder. Peggy, high on adrenaline, grins back up at her: she wants to take off again, she wants to throw her arms around Angie, she wants to kiss her -

Peggy grabs Angie’s hand before she can pull it away, and squeezes tight. Angie looks confused for a moment, then meets her eyes, the smile fading from her face. They look at each other for a long moment, Peggy’s heart slowing.

“Look, honey - I meant what I said”, Angie says, slow and thoughtful, her brow furrowed. “I’m okay with whatever, you know? If you want to go slow, or if you only want something casual: that’s all fine by me. This is great, you know? It’s really great, and I’d hate it if it never went anywhere, cause you think I want some big commitment or - or whatever, you know?”

Peggy doesn’t say anything for a long moment, just holds on to Angie’s hand, stroking her fingers, keeping her hand close to her chest. Finally, she nods.

“Okay”, Peggy says. “All right - in fact, yes please. Let’s go slowly, and see where this goes. And: thank you. For giving me another chance.”

Angie shushes her, and lies down close, her hand till in Peggy’s grip, her head close to Peggy’s shoulder. Turns sideways in the grass to look at her. She’s turned a little pink, Peggy sees, and the smile spreading over her face matches Peggy’s own.

“So, English”, Angie says. “Be my date next week for the Saturday game?”

Peggy grins, and pulls her in close, a flurry of limbs flailing and helmets banging together, until they’re face-to-face. She leans in and plants a peck on Angie’s nose. “Absolutely.”

***

 

4.2

“Do you think Hydra will even make a move?”, Daniel says.

Peggy looks up from talking with May: the connection is stable enough that, in the last hour, they’ve moved on from rehashing the mission tactics, to gossiping about Morse and Simmons, to discussing the Shield career ladder. May’s encouraging Peggy to go back to fieldwork, and recommending combat courses at the Triskelion. She’s now listing the instructors that will, or won’t, give her sexist nonsense alongside their training.

“How do you mean?”, Peggy says.

“Well, it’s been over a week. Nothing since Coulson’s firefight. No evidence that these guys have any kind of nefarious plan: what if they just took May and Coulson on a whim? And that what they overheard was just gossip? Maybe they’re decoys. Or maybe they’re just rookies with no idea of what they’re doing. Or… maybe that’s just what they want us to think. Right?”

“Oh? And when we’ve exhausted ourselves with endless surveillance shifts and - ugh - writing reports, that’s when they’ll try something?” Peggy says. “I’m not so sure. And, if nothing else, hopefully we’ll be able to track the people who are sending them orders. That’s worth doing: don’t you think?”

“Guess I’d hoped Shield life would be more exciting than this”, Daniel grouses. “Saving the world. Having adventures: even second-hand ones. Not sitting here, staring at a map all day.” He casts a dark glare at the photo-covered map on the wall, and then at the crutch propped up beside his desk.

“Of course. Well: in any case. May sends her love.” Peggy isn’t exactly enthusiastic about the work, herself: her mind’s already elsewhere. It’s now half past four, and at five exactly, she’s going to grab her bag, meet Angie, and head to practice.

Chaos had promised a fiendish obstacle course, with curves and sharp turns and even a jump at the end. They’re all learning fast, and Peggy feels she can barely keep up, but she’s finding herself loving the challenge: the physicality and urgency of it reminds her of the best days of fieldwork.

May’s just moved on to complaining about the limitations of Shield’s standard-issue handguns, when Dooley calls Peggy into his office. Dismayed, she looks up at the clock: fifteen minutes.

To Peggy’s surprise, Dooley doesn’t lead in with demands for more information, or justifications as to why they’ve turned up very little. He sits down, waves her at a chair, and gets straight to the point.

“Thompson’s been through all your files. We haven’t found anything new in weeks. It’s time we let these guys go, already: we’re not going to get anything on them, and we’re wasting valuable agent time on monitoring a situation that’s not ever changing.”

Peggy nods. “Yes, sir.”

“We know they’re receiving orders from a headquarters based in Edinburgh. I’ve spoken with May and Morse, and they’re willing to infiltrate there and gather data on their contacts, and the orders they’ve been sending out. Here’s what you can do: we’ll send you out to Edinburgh. Once the taps are in place, work with Simmons from nearby to listen in. Work out what they’re doing. Now: we’ve been easy on you and Sousa these past few weeks, but I’m expecting your hours to be ramping up again. You both up for the job?”

“Yes, sir”, Peggy says immediately. Angie flashes, briefly, faintly, across her mind: but work is more important. And she had said she was fine with anything…

Peggy straightens up. “Sir. If you don’t mind my asking: what’s the timescale on this mission? Are we starting right away?”, she asks.

“We start tomorrow”, he says. “We’ll get the agents out and debriefed, and prepare them for the mission. We’ll give them a few days, and have them place the tap on Monday. You’ll go out on Tuesday: we’re not yet sure for how long, so, get someone in to feed your cat or whatever, all right?”

She doesn’t have a cat, but she’ll have to talk to Angie, Peggy thinks. She’ll need some kind of cover story: her boss going with her on an extended trip, perhaps. It’ll be difficult to do without specifying places: perhaps she can look up some cities in which conferences for the phone industry are happening. Aloud, she says, “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

She’ll talk to Angie this weekend. She bids Daniel a quick goodbye, already looking at the clock: Dooley can fill him in on the plan. And it sounds as though May has everything under control. Swinging by her desk, mind still working out her cover story for Angie, Peggy grabs her bag, heavy with skates and pads, then heads for the door.

She has places to be. A lot of work to think about, for sure, and, of course, a practice: but first, she has a date.

***

 

4.3

Surrounded by thick billows of steam from the dishwasher, Gloria pauses long enough to press a large glass of water into Angie’s hand, before turning back to her work.

“And then Sarah said”, Gloria continues, raising her voice above the drone of the microwave and the roar of the running taps, “we have to prioritise more time together, and that’s what she meant by taking a weekend away. Cause I thought it was just spending money on whatever, and that ain’t like her at all, it’s why I was surprised when she went and mentioned New Jersey. Well, can’t blame a girl for wanting to catch up on a little quality time: especially now our schedules aren’t overlapping so much with me here all night.”

“Well, if money’s a problem, what about your aunt in Boston? Would she lend out her place?”, says Angie, leaning the cold glass against her exertion-flushed face. “Or is there somewhere else? She’s right: you haven’t had a holiday in over a year, it’s about time you had some time to yourselves.”

Gloria removes the glass from Angie’s hand and places a sandwich there instead, before continuing with her work.

“Sure, Aunt Madge’ll be around - I don’t know, though, she might just expect us to spend the whole time with her, looking at the sights. Hard to get that quality alone-time, you know?” Gloria pauses, her back to Angie, and sighs. “I don’t know. I wish I could show her a good time somewhere. She was talking about driving up to New Hampshire somewhere, getting some fresh air into us both: maybe we should just save up longer.”

“What about staying home?”, Angie says, muffled around a mouthful of cheese and pickle. “All the folks I know are talking about doing that: just take some time, lock yourselves into the apartment, and stay there. Enjoy each other, huh? All the comforts of home, none of the spending money on hotels!”

“I like that”, Gloria says. “Gotta try not to spend the whole time cleaning, catching up on all the chores we’ve missed while busy. But the idea’s sound: our sofa, our kitchen, our bed. Tell you what: I do reckon I’ll put that to her. Say we’ll save up for something glitzier out in the country soon, but till then, some time together in the apartment would work great. That sandwich okay? You want a banana or anything else as well?”

Angie thinks, then shakes her head. She’s perched on a tiny stool in the corner of the kitchen, with ten minutes left before Peggy’s due to arrive. Her shoes are lying askew under the stool, and she’s stretched out her feet, sore from carrying plates all day. Breaks with Gloria have been a high point in the day’s monotony: that, and looking forward to Peggy joining her for pie before they head off to practice, has been stoking excitement low in her chest all day.

“So, I think Peggy and I could be something again, maybe”, she says, cleaning her hands on a napkin and, after some deliberation, taking the proffered banana after all. “We did the park skate this last weekend, and you know how she said she couldn’t commit to doing something? Think she’s changing her mind: kept giving me these big doe eyes and goofy smiles.” Angie grins to remember Peggy’s open, delighted face: when they’d lain on the bank, when she’d pulled Angie close to kiss her.

“We talked about it”, Angie continues, munching on the banana. “Said we could keep it slow and casual, if that’s what she wanted. And I don’t know if it’s what she wants, but, well, it’s what we decided. So, yeah. Maybe we’re something.”

Gloria’s rinsing pans and stacking them, nodding thoughtfully. “That’s real nice, hon, you know?”, she says. “I’m so pleased you’ve got something to make you happy. I’ve got to ask, though. Angie. Honey. Is slow and casual really what you want? You’ll not mind my saying that you seemed pretty hung up on that girl, last time you talked about her.”

Angie folds up the banana skin and tosses it at the bin: it sails through the air, bounces off the wall, and lands home. When she looks back at Gloria, she’s still waiting for an answer, eyebrow cocked knowingly.

“Well, sure”, Angie says. “Wouldn’t say no to more, of course. But: it looks like casual’s what she’s got to offer, and I wouldn’t want to push. I’m happy enough with whatever - said that to her, too - and anything she wants to give, that’s great.”

“Hmm”, Gloria says, casting Angie a dubious look. “I mean: full marks to you for not pressuring the girl, of course. Sounds like she’s figuring stuff out, doesn’t need anyone pushing her where she doesn’t want to go. But, honey: you know you don’t have to be all cool and aloof, either? Might be she’d like something less casual, soon enough: no harm in you putting it out there, just in case. I know you. You fall hard, and you’re not going to go all easy and noncommittal for someone like her.”

“What if she gets scared off, though? Isn’t that always the thing?”

“What if she doesn’t? Isn’t something that could get big and involved worth taking that gamble?”

Angie’s quiet for several long moments, turning over the possibilities in her head.

“I know what you’re saying, Glor, I really do”, she says finally, reaching for the empty glass and turning it over and over in her hands. “And thanks for looking out for me: I know it’s not the best thing, always saying I’m fine with everything. I’ll just - I’ll give it some time, okay? I’ll let us both settle in to something, see how it goes, and then maybe we can talk about more if it looks like it might go that way. Okay?”

“Sounds good”, Gloria says. “And with that: you’d better hop to it. I’m glad for you, honey: I really am. About time you found someone lovely in your life: you’ve such a big heart, and so much to offer. I just hope she’s worthy of it.”

“Oh, she’s worth it”, Angie grins. “Worth it, and worth waiting for. Whatever - guess it’s time I went practised some mushy Juliet monologue, how’s about that?”

“Go!”, Gloria swats her lightly with a towel. “Your people await, maestro. You can tell me about auditions another time. Go, or she’ll come and go and you’ll still be here, gossiping with me like some old lady.”

Angie grins and heads back out to the diner, where Peggy is already settled in, up against the bar. She waves Angie over with a huge smile, and Angie swears her heart lifts about ten feet just to see her.

***


	5. Chapter 5

 

5.1

Peggy tears around the track, flying like the wind, Angie’s triumphant shouts following behind and carrying her ever-faster onwards.

There’s a star on her helmet, and wings on her feet: she’s jamming at her first practice scrimmage, and she’s just broken through the line for the fifth - the fifth! - time.

With another thirty seconds of the bout to go, Peggy barrels back in to the line of blockers. She stumbles into one, goes sideways and hip-checks another, then steps back and slides deftly around the side of the pack. It’s as easy as passing through the crowds outside the Metro, as straightforward as threading her way between rows of office desks. She’s used to being careful, to slipping through peoples’ attention: she’d never imagined it could be a useful skill for roller derby.

She speeds up again, and fixes her eyes on the marked corner of the diamond, ahead of her on the track. One more before calling it, she decides. One more round.

Peggy comes back around, and the blockers have now spread out. Peggy’s not worried: they’re not allowed to clothesline her with an outstretched arm, and they’re as new to the sport as she is, so, like her, they’re still cautious. Most likely they’re just covering all the track they can, ready to hip-check her to the floor as soon as she goes for a gap.

Peggy isn’t agile, not yet: but she’s fast, and built strong. Where Angie might feint one way, then swerve at the last minute and dart around the blockers, Peggy simply fixes her eyes on a free space, then speeds up and barrels towards it full-throttle. They can hip-check her, or even try and trip her: she’s unlikely to be stopped by a single nudge. And if she falls, she reminds herself as she feels a hint of apprehension touch her - if she falls, she’ll get up and keep going. Or she’ll make sure she slides far enough along the floor to score some points. Either way.

She moves her weight forward, aims her attention on a point beyond the pack, and leans in: steady, and strong. One more, and she’s done. She skates full-speed into the pack - someone’s foot catches hers, and she stumbles, but stays upright - someone else catches her hip, but they’ve aimed wrong and it’s just a little nudge - and then she’s through, gliding out in front.

She glances to her left, where Chaos catches her eye and gives her a thumbs-up, then Peggy signals on her hips to tap out, and slides to a stop.

As the pack gathers around her, Peggy sits down abruptly, breathing heavily, the adrenaline singing through her system. Six laps: she made it round, and she didn’t stop.

“Honey, that was amazing!” Angie says, pushing her way to her and dropping to her knees to give Angie a hug. “I’ve never seen a beginner jam like that. You’ve just got no fear! I love it when folks just go ahead and charge at the line, it’s everything we’re always trying to teach newbies to do.”

“No hesitation. Just go for it”, Peggy recites, still out of breath and accepting the water bottle offered by Vera. “Thanks. It was good. I had fun.”

“Alright, then”, Chaos says, reaching through the crowd to clap Peggy on the shoulder before straightening up. “Good work, Peggy; good work, everyone else. Take note, too: I want everyone here trying out jamming today. No exceptions. Newbie can do it, so can you: if you can’t swerve, just charge, and if you can’t charge, I don’t know, just slide on your ass till you score at least one point.”

Chaos pulls the star off Peggy’s helmet, casts around, and puts it onto Lorraine’s head instead. She claps Lorraine on top of the head. “You’ll be great. These folks are just a bunch of kittens anyway, isn’t that right? And you” - she helps Peggy up with one hand - “hot shot. You did great. Now go learn to block, okay?”

Peggy has never been more ready to get back out onto the track. “Absolutely”, she grins.

***

 

5.2.

“So, what’s it like taking a turn in the bleachers, hot shot?”, asks Peggy.

Angie grins through a mouthful of hot dog, balancing two dogs in her hands as she picks her way along the line towards Peggy. There are two soda cans stuffed into her cargo pants pockets, and as she passes Peggy the dogs, Peggy sees that her back pockets are full of napkins and straws. Her face and arms are smeared with messy white body paint, and she’s wearing a tank top and a matching bandanna.

“Bad Packs: Fury Rolled”, a huge banner draped the commentators reads, a smaller one below it reading “War Bois vs. Vuvalini! The Future Belongs To The Rad”, picked out in scruffy orange paint. More banners festoon the hall with painted flames, spike-covered cars, and skull-studded steering wheels; draped fabrics in oranges and reds round out the decor, and skaters and supporters everywhere are in elaborate costumes.

The Vuvalini are already skating around the track, colourful scarves tied around their heads and wrists, the feminist pop-punk anthem of the day blaring out over the speakers. Every one of them looks delighted: high on the crowd’s energy and the promise of hard skating, they’re smiling broadly under their make-up and face paint.

“Gotta say, the view ain’t bad”, Angie says, looking directly at Peggy. Peggy turns to her, eyebrow raised, a little incredulous that she’d pull out such a cheesy line: Angie’s looking right back at her, sparks in her eyes, and Peggy folds over, burying her face in her shoulder.

 “Why, why”, Peggy mumbles, and then, all flushed with impulse, and Angie’s warmth, and the noisy crowd, she catches her breath in a heartpounding one-two moment, and turns her head to say, “Who ever thought I’d tolerate such corny lines from my own girlfriend, hmm?”

She feels Angie jump and tense, but then she’s looking down at her, bumping her head with her own and smiling. “Right?”, Angie says. “Folks’ll tolerate anything for a pretty face, so I’ve heard.”

The music changes abruptly, blasting out hot, pounding car-chase music as the War Bois skate out. They’re painted in messy streaks of white and grey, with dark engine grease on their eyes and foreheads, eyes shining bright through the paint. Each of them is holding something small in their hand, and Peggy can’t quite make it out - they skate around the track, then line up in front of their audience, baring their teeth and snarling. They’re all shaking the things they’re holding - and oh! Peggy realises, and bursts out laughing, as the whole team yells “Witnesssss!” and sprays their faces with silver.

Angie’s applauding in delight beside her - “Cake decorations! Vera put them on to it: gotta get some of that off her in the intermission, or tell her someone should go round and offer it to folks in costume, they’d love it! You’d still kiss me covered in spray-on frosting, huh?”

Peggy kisses her on the cheek. “You’d be delicious”, she says, then abruptly licks her: Angie starts in surprise, and then they’re both laughing all over again.

The players are lining up again, now: Peggy gets comfy and checks her own costume. She adjusts her long wig and goggles, and makes sure that the white fabric trailing off her hasn’t become tangled in her neighbour’s spikes and feathers. Angie turns to her with a smile, and helps her readjust the fabric, shooting an approving look at how it drapes.

They’re about to start: the commentators are running through the list of players, rattling off numbers with puns and in-jokes faster than Peggy can process them. The teams’ jammers are lined up behind the pack: Peggy recognises Helen jamming first, silver spray smeared over her face, beside a Vuvalini jammer she doesn’t know: the opposing team are from out of town, today.

The whistle blows, and the jammers take off running and slam into the pack, wrestling faster than Peggy can follow. She’s still not sure exactly what’s going on in most derby matches: the blockers all move and lock in so fast, the jammers pushing one way and then another. She’s pleased, though, to occasionally recognise moves that Chaos has named in among the scrum: her learning and practising blocking forms, and working out how to push through them as a jammer, has extended to being able to more closely follow others’ plays.

Here, she sees the Vuvalini blockers form up into a solid pack, pushing back against Helen first one way, then another, as she runs around the pack, trying to get around them from different angles.

After a few tries, Helen breaks through - a cheer for her rises up from the stands - and Peggy watches the ref following Helen with her hand pointed to her, knowing she’s marked as the lead and she’ll be scoring points for passing the opposing team’s jammer as well as their pack.

Helen makes it three more times around, the last lap a quick, smooth break through the pack, and she turns around to check that the opposing jammer hasn’t yet made it through, before waving her hands against her hips to signal time out.

Peggy leans back against Angie, and exhales: she hadn’t realised that she had barely remembered to blink or breathe while the bout went on.

“She did good, huh?”, Angie says, wrapping an arm around Peggy. “Did you see how she made it through that last lap? It’s always easiest to get through on the first try, and keep your momentum going: I get so frustrated if I have to start cold several times.”

Peggy nods. “Going straight-on until the last minute, then turning sideways and leading with the shoulder: yes, I saw, and I think that’s something Chaos taught us recently? She said it concentrates your force, and makes it that much more difficult for the blocking line to hold together.”

“Sure is”, says Angie. “And hey: you’re liking jamming, right? You were great at scrim this week.”

Peggy nods. “It was fun: but it seemed as though most of the others didn’t want to try.”

“Thing is”, Angie says, “loads of folks are scared of doing it: they’re nervous of taking on all the point-scoring responsibility. I know I feel like I can get lost in the blockers, working as a team: none of our fault on our own, if someone breaks through. Stupid thought, of course: we’re all working together and doing our best, and there’s no-one around that’s going to give anyone a hard time for failing. You try again, you know? But still: just means that when someone’s good at jamming, or likes it, it’s a good time to encourage them.”

“Well, consider me duly encouraged”, smiles Peggy. “But how about you? Is there something you prefer doing, or are you happy anywhere?”

“Oh, I’m the same”, Angie says. “Been playing for coming on three years now, and it’s only recently I started taking jamming seriously. It was too easy, before, to hide behind everyone else who was more keen on it? Still doesn’t come naturally, but it’s not so bad to be bad at something, either. It’s helpful to remember that it ain’t talent that gets you far, here or anywhere else: you put in the hours, you do the work, and then you’ll see yourself getting good.”

“But you prefer blocking, is that right?”

“Oh, sure: I like the teamwork. It’s exciting. Used to play soccer with the local kids when I was growing up, and it feels the same: get folks into different places, make sure your team can hold the line. Supporting our jammer, too: I love it when we manage to do that as well, get some of the other blockers out of the way so they can just sail on through.”

Peggy pauses a moment, then leans in, slow and deliberate, to speak close to Angie’s ear. “It sounds as though you look after your jammers rather well. It makes me wonder what other… perks… I might expect.”

Angie turns a little pink. “Well - course, we, er - we try. That is - “

Watching Angie fumble, Peggy finds herself utterly charmed, and eager to bring the effect over her again. She lays both hands onto her, her arm and her back, and strokes Angie’s cheek lightly with her nose.

“Weren’t you also saying something about a household afterparty? Is that also part of… looking after… your teammates? Make sure they’re well fed, happily… ah, relaxed?” Angie’s shivering under her, now, and when she opens her eyes to look at Peggy, Peggy sees she’s catching her breath, her pupils dilated. It’s not a promise, these touches, these whispers, but Peggy feels as though it’s certainly… a possibility. That’s she’s opening a door, perhaps.

“You’ll come over?”, Angie says, quiet and serious. “Why, honey: that’d be quite the thing, for you to join us. I’d love that.”

*

At half-time, the Vuvalini are leading comfortably, and most of the audience seem to know it’ll go to them in the end. They seem to be a whole level up from the local War Bois: faster, slicker, working together as though they can read each others’ moves before they’ve made them.

“It’s all good”, Angie says, carrying ice creams for herself and Peggy back to the seats, “we don’t mind being beaten: always handy to be reminded there’s other folks out there, playing with different techniques and at totally different skill levels. We spend so much time scrimming with each other, using the same old techniques and moves, it’s easy to forget. And hey, now we’ve something to aim for!”

The team seem fine, too: Peggy catches sight of Helen, skating to the bleachers to fall into Lorraine’s lap. She’s grinning cheerfully, and settles in to kiss her deeply before pulling back and waving her can of silver spray around. As Lorraine catches sight of it, Helen pauses, eyebrow quirked, for just a moment - and when Lorraine laughs and nods, she leans in and sprays it all over her mouth and nose. Lorraine coughs, then leans over suddenly and squashes her face against Helen’s - silver paint spreads everywhere, and when she pulls away, both of them laughing, Peggy grins to see that there’s paint on Helen’s ear and in her hair as well.

“They’re cute, huh?”, Angie says beside her, then waves down to them from where she and Peggy are perched on the edge of the bleachers. “Hey, lovebirds! How’s it all going down there?”

Helen looks up and grins at her. “Come on”, Angie says. “Want to say hi?” The two of them pick their way down the stairs, around people and bags and half-full sodas. “Y’all looked good out there!”, Angie says, hugging Helen in greeting.

“Sure, we looked great”, Helen says. “Not so sure about our skating: these folks are killing us out there.”

“It’s all right”, says Angie. “More practice for next time. And hey, we can study their techniques, right? Make sure we know what they’ll bring next time.”

“Yeah, that works”, says Helen. “And hey, Peggy: good to see you here! Great costume. You liking the game?” Mindful of the wet and sweaty paint that’s all over herself, Helen offers up a fistbump, and Peggy happily accepts.

“I’m having an excellent time, thank you”, says Peggy. “It looks as though the team’s working very hard: every point has been well earned, it seems. Are you all right after that fall?”

“Nice of you to say, hon - and aw, thanks for asking. It’s okay: I think we won’t have me jamming in the second half, though Coach said she wanted me on pivot, make sure the jammers don’t get too tired out.” Pivots can take over jamming halfway through a round: the jammer only has to pass over the star for their helmet. Peggy’s seen pivots take off fast from the front of a pack, just grabbing the star and running: it’s an easy first point, as their team keeps them towards the front of the pack.

“That sounds exciting - very best of luck!”, says Peggy, and Helen smiles and nods, one hand resting absently on Lorraine’s shoulder.

“Yeah, good luck, honey - we’ll be cheering”, Angie says. “Beer’s waiting back at the house when you’re done: if you’re lucky, maybe someone’ll even rub your feet for you, how’s about that? We’ll see you at the house, okay?”

“Okay”, Helen says, grinning, then leans in for a last peck to Lorraine, before skating off to join the team at the bench.

“She left her spray: you want some?”, Lorraine says, holding it out. She’s paint-sticky and grinning, her Imperator scarf smeared with silver.

“Would I just: you’ll do the honours?”, Angie says, leaning forward, and Lorraine sprays a thick, even coating over her. Angie turns, her teeth still bared and coated in silver. “How’m I looking, English? Can’t wait to get a load of this, huh?”

Peggy catches Lorraine’s eye, and laughs. “Charming. How about just a peck, all right? Just here.” She points to her cheek, and Angie leans in, and carefully leaves her a perfect silver lip-print.

***

 

5.3

They’re walking back to the Griffith in a ragged, spread-out group, full of meze and shawarma and carrying drinks in backpacks, when Angie asks, “So, you think you’re going to try and do more derby? Coach said you’ve loads of potential, and I can see it: and it sounds like it’s fun for you too, right?”

 _Oof_ , Peggy thinks, _it’s complicated._ There’s Shield work to consider, all-encompassing as it is, with its urgency and night-time phone calls and time commitment going up and down without warning. The other rollergirls at least have some semblance of structure in their jobs - although, she should maybe talk to Carol. She’s a nurse, and had started the new rollergirls’ Fresh Meat course along with Peggy: and, unlike Peggy, she’s known all along that she’d like to give derby a whole lot of time. Two years’ experience as a bout first aider also meant that Carol knew exactly what she was in for: but, if Peggy’s injured in derby, would she ever be able to return to Shield fieldwork?

Peggy looks over at Angie, hanging on her arm, still smeared in her own and others’ makeup, high and grinning from the thrill of the bout. There are the rollergirls to consider: this noisy bunch of punks and queers and friends, swallowing her up into their community as though they didn’t barely know her. She’s never experienced an environment so charmingly offbeat, and so female-centred. Nor one so queer, and accepting, and celebratory - she’s not sure, she realises suddenly, that these people would care that she worked for Shield. Just as long as she skated fairly, and treated Angie well.

And, of course, there’s Angie. Charming and lovely, making her feel alive and enthusiastic in a way Shield work hasn’t in some time. More derby would mean lots more time with her - and derby itself is fun, too, the physicality of it, the messy wrestling and the permission to be sharp and ungraceful. To be so among friends, and for her strength and her size to be celebrated. Would Angie mind if she found out Peggy was with Shield? Would she understand more why Peggy could be unreliable, why she had to cancel dates or sometimes showed up late, hiding bloodstains on her blouse?

“I’ll have to see how it goes”, Peggy says, at last. “It’s certainly a lot of fun: I’m enjoying the learning very much. And it’s wonderful to be able to see you play, as well, and to follow along more now that I know some of the moves.”

“We’ll have to show you a few more moves soon, huh, English? For the… team. Obviously.” Angie bumps Peggy’s shoulder with her own, and Peggy doesn’t even bother to roll her eyes.

*

“I liked what you said about putting in the hours and the work, and getting better at something that way”, Peggy says, much later. She and Angie are curled up on the floor in the Griffith’s central room, surrounded by a lazily-chatting group. Angie’s hand is warm and solid on her knee, and they both have drinks balanced beside them. Peggy’s attention keeps wandering in and out of other peoples’ conversations, and sometimes catches bits as others walk past: they’re discussing Harry Potter houses, skate brands, good coffee places, the city’s best sex toy shops…

She drags herself back, to where Angie is saying, “aw, you liked that? Thanks: it’s easy to say, but it’s still something I’m working on believing for myself. It’s so tempting to put everything down to talent, like something you can’t control and that comes easily, or doesn’t. Like, that’s what everyone says about being an artist, or being clever, right? It’s a narrative we’re used to hearing.”

“Of course”, Peggy says. “Speaking of art: how is the acting - have you anything exciting lined up?”

Angie makes a non-committal “ehhh” kind of gesture, with the hand that isn’t holding a drink. “It’s… okay. I guess. It’s okay, but… yeah, that thing about practice is definitely harder to internalise in art. Especially with everyone in competition: with derby, it feels like folks want you to succeed, and they’re working on everyone getting better. With acting, everyone wants the part, and they’re all working so hard to make it all look easy and effortless. I can’t count the number of times I’ve been waiting for an audition, and someone else there’s just been posing and preening, trying to psych everyone out.”

Peggy nods. “I can imagine: that must be tough. Especially with so many people wanting to do it.”

“Yeah, that’s right. It’s been hard to find auditions recently, too: the only things coming up are either these tiny chorus parts - boring, right? - or big lead roles in older, established shows. Way above my kind of level. So I’ve just been waiting on the list, seeing what else appears: but it’s not great, cause I don’t get to practice, either. Been thinking it might be best to take something small, just keep a hand in: and sometimes folks make connections during shows. But it’d mean giving up shifts at the diner, and they might let me go altogether if I make it too difficult for them.”

“What about those leads, in that case? I’m sure you’d be great - it’s at least worth a try, don’t you think?”

“Aw, it’s sweet of you to say, English. I should give them a try, you’re right. It’s hard cause every audition’s a whole shift off, too - I can only afford to do a couple a week, if I’m being sensible - but, hey. If I get a lead, you’ll come see me every night, how’s about that?”

“Absolutely. And I’ll wait by the stage door with flowers, if that would be all right?”, Peggy says, leaning in to press a kiss to Angie’s neck.

*

Peggy soon finds it’s easiest to stay on her floor cushion and let the party come to her. It’s warm and quiet in their corner, with a few squishy armchairs and lots more cushions, and the Griffith’s residents and their guests come by to chat and share thoughts on the bout. Angie leaves for a while to catch up with friends from out of town, after assurance from Peggy that she’s just fine on her own; she later returns bearing more cocktails, each one sporting three cocktail cherries and two umbrellas out of the top. Vera comes by, too, and offers them tiny strawberry tarts from a tray: they go down easily with Angie’s fruity cocktails, and Peggy, surrounded by light and warmth and colour, by friends and community, feels she might just bubble over with contentment.

“So, do you think you’ll take part in the next bout?”, Carol asks Peggy, leaning down to where she and Angie are curled on the floor. “I heard it’ll be superhero themed: the Avengers vs. the Fantastic Four! Loads of scope for costumes: though I wonder what it’d be like trying to play in a cape…”

“They’d need a whole new rule set for capes, I’ll bet”, says Angie, sipping her drink through an elaborate curly straw. “No cape-grabbing, no blinding your opponents with your cape, excessive swishing will be punished - “

“And there’s me thinking using weaponised capes could be a whole lot of fun”, says Peggy. “We would have to run a separate, closed bout just for all the cape tricks we could do. I, for one, like the sound of excessive swishing a whole lot: perfect for distracting the opposition, don’t you think?”

“Definitely”, Carol grins. “I bet we could change up some rules to make it like folks have superpowers, too. Jammers with super-speed, collecting double points for every lap!”

“Blockers with padding, Hulk-style”, Vera puts in from the opposite sofa. “No-one’s getting past me: I’ll smash them!”

“Double agents on the opposing teams?”, Peggy adds. “No-one’s sure which of them’s going to suddenly turn: a team blocker who trips up their own people so the jammer can get past!”

“That’s tricksy, now”, Carol says, smiling thoughtfully at Peggy. “I like how your mind works: we should use that as a training exercise. See how fast folks can react to sudden changes in the team.”

Angie grins and elbows Peggy in the side. “Knew you weren’t quite so sweet, honey. Your mind’s evil, that’s what it is.”

“Only making sure the team stay alert”, Peggy says, primly sipping her drink. “So: do you teach?”, she asks Vera. “I’ve heard you’ve been playing for some time.”

“Not yet”, Vera says, stretching out and shifting closer to the group. “Maybe some day. Right now it’s enough to work a bit, then wander in and skate in the evenings: teaching would take up a whole bunch more time. Anyway, I’m already a teacher”, she grins, “wouldn’t do to have to run around after all of you every day as well as my kids.”

“Oh! Do your school know you skate?”, Peggy blurts out, without thinking, then follows it up with a quick, “um, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Sure they do: not most of the kids, just cause it’s not relevant, usually, our talking about our personal lives. But my friends there do, and anytime a girl’s having trouble with sport, or feels like it’s not for her, a bunch of them send her to me for a talk about sport options outside school. It’s such a shame we don’t have a youth league here: I’d love to be able to send them out to something they might find fun, instead of sending them back into the hall to throw a ball around. But yeah, if that’s what you’re asking: they’re fine with it. I do my work, get all my stuff done on time: they think it’s cool. The kids like my hair.” She bounces her emerald curls with a smile.

“I can understand”, Peggy says, thoughtful. “What a lovely thing, to be able to show girls that there’s something else outside of school: as you say, even if none of their current options work for them, they could one day join a group like this. I love the idea of a youth league, too.” She imagines noisy, costumed teenagers charging around the track alongside the adults, and smiles.

“Yeah, me too”, Vera says. “Some cities, they’ve started doing mixed derby, too, and I wouldn’t mind seeing that option, actually. It always feels kinda awkward for me that I can only tell the girls at school about derby? There’s boys who hate sports in equal measure. And obviously any time you mark something as all-women, that’s going to be a minefield for all kinds of trans folks, it’s not just excluding guys: way back when, it took Angie assuring me the place wasn’t full of scary transphobic feminists for me to even try out.”

Peggy hadn’t considered that before. “Oh”, she says, wondering what to say. “That… must have been tricky. And, er, difficult. I’m sorry.”

Vera shrugs. “It’s okay. It’s good people here. Once they let me rewrite their website wording and their inclusion policies, it was even better.”

Peggy’s still thinking, mostly of Vera’s work, thoughts rushing around inside her head: of Vera’s colourful hair, her visible tattoos, her speaking enthusiastically about derby at work and still being… being allowed to do the work, being respected there. This is something - it’s something that people can balance, this professionalism alongside this authenticity, and Peggy lightens a little with the realisation.

“Carol’s got the same thing going on, huh, Carol?”, Angie says, waving Carol over to an armchair. “They love hearing about derby at her work. Six years nursing, two years first aiding for our sorry asses out on the track, and now playing derby too, huh?”

“That’s right”, says Carol, stretching out comfortably. “Work folks are always asking me how the weekend bouts went, or what are the worst injuries we’ve seen out on the track. Especially when I was placed in the emergency room, folks thought it sounded like a great thing to do, and useful, too. Splinted up more bones on the track then I ever did in the ER.”

“And then there’s Helen, and she’s just rollergirling full-time, huh? Living the dream”, Angie says, grinning over at Helen. “She’s down in the skate shop downtown: in fact, hey, we should take you there on a field trip, huh, English? Sort you out with custom skates, fitted just right. You’ll look after her, right, Helen?”

“Sure I will”, Helen says, snagging a beer from the table behind her. “I’m on tomorrow afternoon, if y’all want to come in.”

“Let’s do it, hon!”, Angie says. “It’ll be fun: you can see all the styles, and they have all this fabulous derby gear too. Ideas for customising your pads, and helmet stickers, and all sorts. You’ll love it, I bet: and we can start thinking about your rollergirl aesthetic, huh?”

“That sounds lovely”, says Peggy, and Helen grins and gets up, satisfied. She grabs another beer and walks to where Lorraine is waving to her. The others, too, have gone to speaking among themselves, and Peggy leans into Angie a little, all cocktail-warm and soft where she’s sprawled on the floor.

“That is”, Peggy says, reaching out to curl a length of Angie’s hair around her finger, “if you’d have me to stay. We could make a weekend of it. If you’d like that.”

Angie’s mouth has fallen open, and she’s just watching Peggy’s fingers move, twisting the hair round and round. Peggy moves her hand into Angie’s hair, and Angie just lets her head fall back into her hand, looks at her with big dark eyes.

“You’re absolutely, completely, definitely, more than welcome, English”, she says, all soft and quiet. “And… well, I’m ready to turn in, anytime you like. Whatever you want. We could - we could get brunch, tomorrow. Down the road, and then go see Helen, do a trip around town.”

“Yes”, says Peggy, not slowing down her stroking of Angie’s hair. “Wonderful. Let’s stay here a little longer, how about that? We’ve good conversations going here: I’m having such a nice time. And then, later. Later on, I’ll let you know when you can take me to bed.”

***


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has no redeeming plot importance! If you're not interested in reading a chapter of sex, no worries at all: just skip on ahead to the next one, you won't miss any plot points.

 

6.1

Angie and Peggy drift up towards bed hours later, arms wrapped around each other, Peggy full up on conversations about derby, about politics, about queer identities and activism and Vera’s best vegan cookie recipes. Angie’s warm under her hands, and impossibly soft, her head resting on Peggy’s shoulder even as she directs them both towards her room.

“Hon, I think we’re both tired and drunk”, Angie says once they finally make it to her room. Peggy deliberately doesn’t allow herself to collapse onto the bed, knowing she won’t make it up again: she hums in agreement, absently strokes Angie’s shoulder. “So, what say, I’ll pull out some jammies for us both, and we can just sleep it off, see where we go in the morning?”

Peggy’s cut off from answering by a face-splitting yawn. “That - that certainly sounds - sensible. Sleeping would be lovely. Long - long day.”

Angie turns to face her, looking for all the world as though she’s watching a kitten video instead of a yawning, half-asleep girlfriend. “Wait right there, then, hon: I’ll see what I can find.”

She brings out flannel pyjamas, the cosiest things Peggy’s ever seen. There’s plenty of space under the blankets, but she stays close to Angie in any case. “Heating’s not the best”, Angie says, piling another couple of blankets on top of them.

“All the better for staying close to you”, Peggy mumbles. She wants to experiment with different ways to curl up with Angie: wants to feel her limbs up against her, to spoon her and kiss her neck, to hold her close against her chest, and she reminds herself there’ll be plenty of time soon enough. For now, she lets herself curl up against Angie’s side, head pillowed on her shoulder, and drift, vaguely aware of Angie stroking her hair as she goes under.

*

Peggy wakes up to blazing sunlight, feeling all well-slept and morning-sticky. She doesn’t move for a while, just registers Angie’s warmth behind her, the suddenly too-hot room, all draped in bright fabrics, books stacked up on the dresser. She can’t see much from her vantage point, wrapped up in Angie’s arms, but it looks like a room that Angie just passes through: just grabs fresh clothes and skates, and maybe a book, before going onwards to her next appointment. That would make sense, Peggy thinks: it had sounded as though she was kept at the diner all hours when she wasn’t skating.

She lies there, listening to Angie’s steady breathing, finding the arm she’d flung over Peggy’s side and absently stroking her hand. Angie, too, is wrapped up in flannel under the blankets, and Peggy finds herself just wanting to press up close to her, touch her all over. She thinks about reaching up under her shirt, finding smooth skin and pillowy breasts, and the sounds she might make to be stroked - abruptly, the thought strikes her straight down to her belly, her hips twitching ever so slightly in response. She catches herself breathing faster.

Well. She’d known she had it bad. The thought enters her head, briefly, that it’s been a little while - even longer since she’s been with a woman, even - but she chases it away, just as quick. She’s never yet been with an Angie: it doesn’t matter a jot who else she’s done besides.

Practicalities, first. She carefully lifts up Angie’s arm and shuffles towards the edge of the bed, swings her legs to the floor, careful not to jolt the mattress too much. And Angie - oh, bless her - she’s left a large bottle of water on the bedside table. Peggy drinks deep, and that’s when Angie stirs, and cracks one eye.

“Shhh”, Peggy says. “Just popping out for a few moments. I’ll be back.”

“ ‘k,” says Angie, all blanket-muffled. “Bathroom’s end of the hall, on the left. Got spare toothbrushes in the cupboard. Chuck me some water?”

Peggy passes it over, and when she returns, Angie’s sitting up, sipping water and checking her phone. She looks up, and Peggy grins to see her. Angie’s all sleep-mussed, her hair sticking up, yesterday’s make-up smudged, and Peggy knows she must look the same. She can’t help but grin goofily back. 

Angie unfolds herself from the bed, straightens up to stand to her full height, several inches below Peggy’s own. “Morning, honey”, she says, grin still plastered over her face, before turning suddenly serious, leaning in to press a kiss to Peggy’s neck. Her lips are still wet from the water, and a little cold: Peggy tips her head back, lets Angie kiss again, and again, marking a cold, shivery line down her throat. She sighs as Angie draws back.

“How’s about you make yourself comfortable, honey?”, Angie murmurs, “I’ll only be a minute.”

Peggy sits cross-legged on the bed, looking around the room and daydreaming possibilities. She could drape herself over the bed, clothed or otherwise - or, perhaps Angie has some costume pieces she could quickly search out. Would Angie be more surprised, or not, to come back and find Peggy all in lingerie and feathers, shedding glitter onto her blankets? She could make the bed, and greet Angie by the door; she could hide in a cupboard and wrestle her to the bed, see who could manage to pin the other down to have their way with them. Anticipation curls warm in her stomach, spreads tingles out until all her skin feels electrified, ready to touch and be touched.

The creak of the bathroom door echoes down the hall, and Peggy looks around at the bed - it’s unmade, sleep-messy just like the both of them - and opts to stay as she is, flannel pyjamas and untidy hair. Cosy and welcoming, she hopes.

Angie returns, sunlight hitting her face as she steps back into the room and smiles at Peggy, carefully closes the door behind her. “Hey, honey”, she says, walking over to kneel with her on the bed. “Don’t you look right at home, there. It’s such a sight to wake up to, I can’t even tell you.” She reaches out her arms, cocking a questioning eyebrow, and Peggy nods with a smile, leans into her. As Angie lays her hands on her shoulders, stroking outwards and down her back, Peggy can’t help a shudder: wide awake and sober, skin all aware and receptive, and every touch feeling, now, like a promise, she can’t help but lean in with anticipation.

“Oh, honey”, Angie says, registering Peggy’s fast breathing, the way she’s leaning into her touch, the flush that Peggy knows is spreading up over her chest and onto her cheeks. Peggy gives into her stroking all at once, bonking her head onto Angie’s shoulder, letting her set the pace. With her eyes closed, all Peggy knows is Angie’s touch: the gentle fingertips over her back turning here and there to nails, scratching her lightly through her shirt and making her shiver; the vanilla scent of her soap surrounding her as Angie’s hair tickles her face.

Angie stops her stroking, and leaves one hand firm on her back, uses the other to tip up her chin to face her. Peggy opens her eyes almost as an afterthought, to see Angie’s looking into hers, close and searching: they dart from one side, to the other, and then she licks her lips and leans in.

This kiss feels new, too: Angie kisses deep, all at once, and Peggy feels she has to rush to keep up. She pulls herself up out of her sex-clouded brain to focus more on Angie: kisses back fast and hard, and wraps her legs around Angie’s waist, all strong and firm; moves her hands up to grip Angie’s wrists where they’re tangling in her hair. They’re both escalating this, now, hands moving from hair to shoulders to run down each others’ sides, pulling in close, Peggy’s feet hooked together behind Angie’s back, Angie held firm in her lap.

They break away, both breathing hard, Angie holding Peggy’s face close up against hers. Then Angie shifts up: her back moving Peggy’s feet along with her, leaning up and over and moving Peggy’s thighs, until Peggy is splayed out under her, her legs still up and hugging Angie behind her back, and one of Angie’s thighs hovering between her legs, not yet pressing down. Angie leans in, drags her lips up Peggy’s neck to her ear, and whispers there:

“Is this okay, honey?”

Peggy leans back and turns her head to look Angie in the eye, brings one hand up to her hair. She puts every fragment of sincerity she has into her answer: “Yes. Absolutely. Yes, this is wonderful.” And, suddenly conscious that Angie’s on top here, that she seems to be gearing up to take the lead, “is this okay with you? Can I do anything - ?”

“This is great”, Angie says, leaning in to kiss Peggy again in between phrases. “This is perfect - you’re perfect. Why don’t you - “ she kisses Peggy’s neck again - “just lie back” - pulls her shirt aside to kiss down along her collarbone - “and let me look after you. How about that, now?”

“Okay!”, Peggy squeaks out, quick and too loud, and then, composing herself, tries to bring back her husky voice: “I mean. Of course. Er.” She almost asks again if that’s okay with Angie, before stopping herself: Angie had said she wanted this. It’s a good time to trust that she knows what she’s doing.

“Okay, then”, Angie says, cheerful and brisk back, and plants one more quick kiss onto Peggy’s lips before rising up onto her knees. She shuffles down the bed, pushing up Peggy’s shirt to kiss and stroke over her bare stomach, and Peggy, heaven help her, immediately bucks up under her touch, hips thrusting up into thin air, a moan escaping her before she can register it.

“Good?”, Angie says, kissing up her stomach, her hands sliding up onto her ribs. “More?”

“Yes”, Peggy breathes out in a huff, and Angie pushes up her shirt more: Peggy lifts up to let her slide it over her head, the fabric brushing and catching on her nipples as it goes. Angie pauses as she pulls the shirt up her arms: Peggy’s lifted them up, close together, and like this, she could easily leave the shirt tangled up in her wrists. With her arms above her head, Peggy registers that her breasts stand higher up, as though on display, her nipples hard under Angie’s gaze.

Angie looks from her chest, up to Peggy’s hands, finally to her eyes. “You want to keep your hands up there for me, honey?”, she says, her gentle tone contrasting with the wicked smile breaking out over her face. Peggy feels giggles rising up inside her, like bubbles in champagne, and she sees no reason not to let them out as she nods. Angie leans down, her hands still firm on Peggy’s forearms, to kiss her again: deep and penetrating, this time, and Peggy moans around Angie’s tongue, letting herself slacken all over and simply receive her. Angie pulls away, leaving one more gentle peck on Peggy’s bottom lip. “Okay, then.”

With a last squeeze of Peggy’s wrists, Angie runs her hands down her body, forearms to armpits to ribs, flicking both her nipples with a single, firm touch of her thumbs as she moves past. The touch goes straight to Peggy’s clit, it feels: she buries her face against one of her arms and moans again, wanting more, wanting whatever more Angie’s planning to give.

Her hands finish up at the waistband of Peggy’s pyjamas, and Peggy doesn’t hesitate to lift up her hips and let her take them. Angie turns round to drag them off her ankles, and Peggy lies there, hands up and just in her panties, an image suddenly jolting into her mind: of Angie, fully-clothed and methodical, gloved fingers steadily taking Peggy apart; of herself all naked and splayed out under her. Angie’s calmness, contrasting with Peggy’s own desperation: her heavy breathing, her thighs streaked with lube, and sweat, and her own juices.

Angie turns back to her, never once breaking contact on Peggy’s body with her hands: she runs them up her legs, up the outside of her thighs, then matter-of-factly brushes two fingers, firm and quick, over her sex before running them up again, over her belly and her breasts, leaning down on her hands to kiss her again.

“Okay?”, she asks, and Peggy nods again, pushing her hips up, straining to kiss her more deeply. Angie brings her thigh down then, pushing against Peggy’s sex, letting her grind up into her. She pauses to adjust Peggy’s own thigh: pulls behind her knee to bring it up, and then Peggy can feel Angie’s sex, too, all hot against her. Angie’s pace stutters, then, for the first time: she grinds down uncontrollably, once, twice, before backing off and gasping, burying her face in Peggy’s neck.

“Just - want you so much”, she says thickly into Peggy’s shoulder. “Wanted this so much”, and Peggy shushes her, untangling her hands to come down and stroke her hair, even as she brings up her thigh again, gentle as anything, to rub up against her. She kisses her, then, swallows the gasping little sob that Angie produces, and runs her hands down her back to take Angie’s shirt, to drag it up over her head.

Peggy holds on to Angie’s face with one hand, cups her cheek as she’s kissing her, while she lets the other hand trail over her back and her shoulder, down to where her breasts are hanging down towards her. Angie’s still holding herself up on her elbows, and she leans her forehead down against Peggy’s as Peggy strokes her, then pinches a nipple between her fingers, pulls it down gently. Switches to the other, where she pulls and twists, holding it firm, the back of her hand up and flush with her breast: Angie’s making tiny little gasps and moans into her mouth, barely moving, eyes closed.

Looking at her, Peggy has the thought that she’d love to make Angie moan like this for ever. To see that look on her face, to feel how helpless her body becomes under her hands, twitching and bucking at every touch: she’d be happy to get to do that for a long, long time, she thinks. For now, Angie interrupts her stroking, nips at her ear, and straightens up again.

“There’s me thinking we were focusing on you for a while, English.”

Peggy folds her hands behind her head. “It’s all good by me: well, no objections, of course, if you’d like to carry on with what you were doing. It does seem as though you’ve some kind of plan for me.” She smiles up at her, all easy and relaxed now.

Angie leans over to her bedside table, and produces a black latex glove. “How about we carry on, and do more? Is this something you’d like?”

Well. They’re doing this, then: Peggy sits up to kiss her, anticipation thrumming through her whole body. “Yes. Yes, please.”

Angie pulls her in closer, where she can whisper throatily in her ear, “so, tell me. You want my fingers on you?”

Peggy dips her head down into Angie’s shoulder, resting where she can be close, where she can hide her flush and still have Angie speaking into her ear. “Yes.”

“You want them inside you? You want them to fill you up?”

“Yes.”

“So lie on back, then, honey: I’ve got you. Go on.” She headbutts Peggy lightly, pushing her down and following her, landing kisses on her chest, her collarbones, up to her lips. “Latex is okay, right?”

“Oh, yes.” Peggy watches Angie snap on the glove, and then, as she lowers her gloved hand down to stroke over her belly, Peggy stops thinking much of anything at all, every brain cell focused on Angie’s touch, the glove’s promise.

“One sec, we’ll do both hands.” Angie reaches back into her drawer. “Oh, and I’ll have these, okay?” Peggy obediently lifts up her hips again, letting Angie slide her panties down and off: she throws them on top of the pile of clothes on the floor. “There.” Both hands gloved, she strokes again over Peggy’s ribs and belly, coming up to thumb her nipples, then catch them, pinching them between her fingertips. Peggy starts at the strong sensation, looks down, and is struck by the look of Angie’s dark, gloved fingers contrasting with her own pale skin. There’s something delightfully artificial about that look, she thinks, something deliberate and intentional.

Angie produces some lube and dips one hand between Peggy’s legs, the other staying steady and strong on her belly. Her first touch is butterfly-gentle: a quick stroking over her labia with the backs of her fingers, not staying long enough for anything to catch there, and then, as Peggy lifts up her hips again, strains towards her, she runs her wet fingertips up and between her labia and, at last, firm over her clit.

She stays there: moving slowly, pressing in firm circles, and Peggy sighs almost in relief, lets herself sag down and go still. There’s promise in this touch, too, and in the look of concentration on Angie’s face: no more teasing, and no more buildup. She’s going to stay right there. Peggy lets herself relax further into the sensation, her legs falling open, her arms splaying out comfortably on the pillows.

“This okay, honey?”, Angie says, still moving, and Peggy looks down at where she’s sat between her legs, both hands on her, and nods, smiling. “This is lovely.”

“Feel good, what I’m doing? Anything else you want?”

Peggy considers. “Well - what you’re doing, slowly like that - that’s lovely. You can also try, um, from the sides? Using two fingers - here, like this” - she reaches down and shows her, quickly, how she pinches her clit between two fingers and runs them up and down - “but that’s good for later on, when I’m wanting things harder. I’ll let you know.”

“Please do let me know. You want anything inside you?”

“More of this, first? But - yes, soon. Yes please.”

“Sounds great, honey. Coming right up, anything you want.” Angie carries on with her slow stroking, going firm and then backing off, as her other hand strokes over Peggy’s belly and up to pinch one nipple, and then another. Peggy drifts, watching her hands move, gasping under Angie’s fingers as she presses on her clit harder, twists a nipple a little firmer, all the while watching her, gently checking in with a look. Peggy warms a little more at the feeling of being studied: Angie’s trying things out, and noting her reactions; she’s asking and listening and adapting. She wonders what kind of lover Angie will be in a month, two months: if she’ll still be chasing new responses to unlock, or piling up the moves she knows so she can play Peggy like a piano.

There’s pressure from Angie’s other hand, now, at Peggy’s entrance, and a questioning look in Angie’s eyes: Peggy leans up and nods, then adds, “but slowly: shallow thrusts first, maybe?”

“Of course: thanks for saying, hon”, Angie says, and she keeps right on stroking Peggy’s clit even as she slides a fingertip - or it is two fingers? It’s two, but gentle - inside her. They go easy, wet and slippery as the two of them are, and she stops fast, drawing back and thrusting slowly with only her fingertips. Peggy squeezes herself around Angie’s fingers, and gasps at the firm fullness of them, convulses again involuntarily around them with a moan.

“Good, then?”, Angie says, grinning at her, and Peggy nods. “Little more?” She nods again, and Angie slides in further, still building up slowly, thrusting more and more as she goes. She speeds up as her fingers slide in down to the knuckle, and Peggy feels the first flutters of oncoming orgasm blooming low in her stomach. She moans into one of her upraised arms, and bears down on Angie’s fingers, looking for more: Angie responds by pushing in a little harder, and speeding up her movements on Peggy’s clit.

“Yes. Good”, Peggy bursts out, breathing hard now. “Could - do more, now. Another finger, or harder with your other hand - “

Angie’s hand disappears from her clit for a moment, her other hand stilling, and Peggy sees she’s adding more lube, one-handed. She comes back with two fingers either side of her clit, slippery and firm: she rolls her clit between them, then slides up and down, experimentally at first, then harder and faster as Peggy tips back her head and gasps beneath her. She keeps up the pace, thrusting with her fingers, and, with Peggy’s eyes closed, everything is sensation: Angie filling her and stroking her, this coiled energy building up uncontrollably inside her, her chest heaving with sharp gasping breaths.

“Like that”, she grits out. “Just like that - keep going, don’t stop, I’m, I’m - “

Angie keeps going, then rubs her clit just the tiniest bit faster, and all at once, Peggy tips over into orgasm. The sensations building up in her belly bloom and spread out, shooting warm electricity to every part of her; she feels herself convulsing around Angie’s fingers, still moving inside her, producing yet more sparks; she grabs a pillow and muffles a yell in it, then gasps out for air, lets another loud moan out into the pillow.

Peggy slowly comes back to herself, boneless and still twitching slightly, Angie’s hands motionless and steady on her. Her heart’s hammering: she sits up, yelping at the movement on her over-sensitised clit, and kisses Angie, calm and deep and languid as her heart slows down. Everything feels soft, and wet, and open: she could lie here and be fucked all over again, could be kissed, could be cuddled asleep. Anything Angie wants.

“Whoa”, Angie says, resting her head on Peggy’s shoulder. “That was awesome. You okay?” Peggy nods. “You, um, you think you’d want to go again? I’d be totally happy to go again.”

Peggy leans back onto her elbows and considers. Angie’s fingers are twitching gently inside, sending tiny aftershocks through her: she’s all relaxed and bubbling, and why not? “Sure”, Peggy says. “Let’s - let’s give it a go. I might need my fingers to join yours, but if you’d like to stay inside, just where you are - “

“Ooh: maybe I’ve something to help. Or that’s just extra fun”, Angie says, adding “just a second”, as she withdraws her fingers, then pulls off one glove to she can rummage again in her drawer. “Here we go: if you want!” She holds up a tiny vibrator in triumph. “You want to make that happen?” She passes the vibrator and a condom to Peggy, who unrolls the condom and drops the toy inside. It’s firm plastic, with a simple plus/minus switch, and she pushes it into the end of the condom and switches it on experimentally.

“That one’s great: it’s my second favourite”, says Angie cheerfully, and, to Peggy’s raised eyebrow, adds, “oh, don’t worry. I’d be happy to show you my first favourite too. Just that, well, I liked being here - “ she pushes gloved fingers back against Peggy’s entrance, not quite penetrating yet - “and I think I’d like to stay here for this round. More lube?”

“Yes, thank you. It’s very strong - “ Peggy lays the toy onto her clit, and jumps at the sensation, drawing it back with a yelp. “Really very strong! Unexpected.” She turns down the setting, and lays it on again more cautiously, drawing wide circles around herself.

“That it is: good make, that one. Here, how’s about I’ll go steady here” - she pushes two fingers back inside Peggy - “and you go at any pace you like? Let me know if you want anything else, okay?”

Peggy’s sensitive, and jumps right back up to her pre-orgasmic state, riding the sensations hard: Angie’s fingers filling her are perfect, the vibrator is taking her up and up, but she realises she’ll still need more.

“Can I have one more finger?”, she says, leaning up to look at Angie’s hand. “And if you’re able to - to spread them out a little, just really push outwards - “

“Say no more, honey”, Angie says, withdrawing her hand and bringing it back with even more. “Like this, right?” She holds up her other hand, the fingers splaying out, and Peggy nods, gasping at the extra stretch inside her.

“And - just - scissoring them?”, Peggy says, ragged now, moving the vibrator in closer circles on herself. “Moving them around? If you can.”

She’s so full, and feels so very open - as though Angie could slide in more fingers as easy as anything, as though she could take more toys, or Angie’s whole hand - and, oh: the thought of Angie’s whole hand sends shudders right through her. She lands the vibrator right on her clit, and as Angie thrusts in, fingers spread out and pushing, Peggy tips over the edge: thrashes down against Angie, moans and pushes up against the vibrator.

She thinks it goes on for a long time: Angie’s supporting her arm with her other hand when she finally withdraws the vibrator and looks up at her, unable to stop a sunny smile from spreading over her face. Angie returns it as she carefully withdraws her hand and pulls off the glove, and she doesn’t pause to grab the blankets and lie down beside Peggy. She lifts up Peggy’s arm and lands herself on her shoulder, curls up into her side, and Peggy turns her head to plant a kiss into Angie’s hair, certain that’s all the movement she can manage right then.

Peggy drifts, vaguely aware of Angie lying up against her, of the sweat drying on her body and the room getting steadily more sun-warmed. She kicks off the blankets absently some time later, and Angie shifts a little, turns her head to kiss Peggy’s neck.

“You want I could fix us some breakfast, honey?”

“Oh, that’s so kind”, Peggy murmurs into Angie’s hair. “I just - I - “ - she shakes herself mentally, dragging herself up from her sleepy daze - “wait. I thought you and I had a date with your first favourite. Is that something you would like?”

Angie makes a noise into Peggy’s shoulder that sounds like “gnnngh”, and Peggy realises: while she’d been drifting in a post-orgasmic haze, Angie had been lying right here with her, all aroused and silent.

“You would like that?”, Peggy smiles, still murmuring mostly into Angie’s hair, all soft and teasing. “Darling, you should have said: there you are, all generous and selfless, playing me so thoroughly, and I never even knew you wanted - all this, just as urgently as I did. Hmm?” She doesn’t wait for an answer, just rolls Angie over onto her back and leans down for a kiss, pushing her thigh experimentally between Angie’s legs, then pressing harder as Angie moans at the contact. She breaks away to look at her, and Angie’s gasping. It takes Angie a few seconds to speak.

“Yes, please. There’s the drawer - anything you want.”

Well, that’s unambiguous. Peggy smiles and pushes herself upwards to rummage in the bedside table. She finds gloves, and lube, and then at the back, there’s a turquoise dildo that can only be Angie’s favourite. It’s beautiful: she pulls it out, and Angie blushes crimson, and watches Peggy run gloved hands over its length as though she can’t tear herself away. It’s big: both long and wide, with gently sloping waves leading down from a swollen head. Peggy wraps a hand around the shaft, and looks at Angie.

“Is this what you’d like?”

Angie nods frantically. “Oh, yeah: and if you wanted to turn it on, there’s settings on the base. Um… usually I need a bit of buildup for it. But actually, I think today I can just take it as-is, if you’re okay with that?”

Peggy puts down the dildo, leans down and brushes a gloved hand over Angie’s face. “Whatever you’d like. I’ve love to.” She kisses down Angie’s chest, but doesn’t linger: drags off her pyjamas and panties, then leans up to lube the dildo, watching Angie’s face the whole time. Another time, she thinks, she’ll look forward to taking hours over this: kissing Angie all over, making her wait while she builds things up slowly. Today, Angie’s more than deserved her jumping straight to the main event.

Peggy strokes lubed fingers up and down Angie’s vulva, opens her up to find her warm and wet and ready, strokes up to land on her clit, hard and swollen in its folds. She leaves a couple of fingers slowly pressing around Angie’s clit as she lines up the dildo and carefully pushes.

The noise Angie makes seems inhuman. She tips her head back and lets out a loud groan, then, as Peggy draws back the dildo and pushes it further in, Angie reaches up to grab the headboard and push down onto the dildo, ragged gasps intermingling with her moans. Peggy’s utterly focused on her: she’s mesmerised, focused fully on what her hands are doing, on making Angie continue to make those riveting sounds.

“That’s really good”, Angie gasps out as she fucks herself down onto the dildo. “I - I can take it harder, if you want. Especially if you turn it on, you can build up to hard, fast strokes.”

Peggy finds the switch with her thumb, and turns on the vibration, low to start with. She speeds up her movement on Angie’s clit, lube making it easy to slide every which way around it, as she pushes the dildo all the way inside, then starts up a steady rhythm. Angie’s close, she’s sure: she’s flushed in patches all over, and she’s pushing up against the headboard, pushing down against Peggy, moaning her name between gasps.

A couple of times she asks for Peggy to go harder, and in a flash of inspiration, Peggy kneels up between Angie’s legs, pressing the base of the dildo against her thigh. She flicks the vibration up higher, and leans forward, still stroking at Angie’s clit: like this, unsupported and with both hands in use, she could maybe thrust into Angie with her thigh for a few minutes.

Angie opens her eyes, and looks as though all her Christmases have come at once. She doesn’t speak for a while, just watches Peggy moving above her, leaning on her forehead and holding her gaze, the both of them breathing hard in rhythm.

“Oh, English”, Angie says, reaching up to cup Peggy’s face. “You sure do look good like this. Here, let me help - “ and she reaches down to stroke at her clit with one hand, freeing up Peggy to lean against the headboard and thrust harder. “Yes - “, Angie says, louder now, “yes, that’s good, like that, that’s good that’s so fast that’s so good - “

Her words blur into a messy, drawn-out moan, and Peggy feels her whole body clenching under her before Angie grabs a pillow with her free hand and screams out her orgasm into it. Peggy thrusts as hard as she can all through it, her loosened hair half-blinding her and her thighs cramping up, before slowing, backing off, as she feels Angie’s frantic hand beginning to slow under her. As Angie pulls the pillow off and takes deep breaths, gaze far away, Peggy carefully withdraws the dildo and puts it onto a towel by the bed.

Angie doesn’t drift at all: before Peggy’s peeled off her gloves, she’s leaning up on her elbows, talking a mile a minute, on Peggy’s prowess, on how good it had felt, and finally -

“Honey, we need to get you a strap-on.”

Peggy pauses, thoughtful: the image comes into her head slowly. Something hard and heavy between her thighs, and Angie underneath her - or on top of her, riding her - oh, Angie on her knees -

She tears her gaze back to the Angie in front of her, who is watching her expression and grinning.

“Oh, now we definitely need to get you a strap-on. You like the idea, right? You used that thing so well, there’s nothing I’d like more than to try it again. And, y’know. See if we can get it a bit more comfy for you.”

Peggy nods, slowly, feeling herself flushing all over again. “I would like that. And, of course, if you’re interested - well, I’d be very interested. In swapping around. If you like.” She pauses, smiling. “Let’s make that our next date. How about that?”

“Sounds like fun, honey. Let’s make it a date. But for now, what say we go find that breakfast?” With that, Angie pecks Peggy on the forehead, and heads for the shower.

***


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More content warnings: if you're not interested in reading about sex, just miss out the second section onwards of 6.2, and all of 6.3. As ever, there's no redeeming social or plot importance to be found.

 

7.1

The skate shop is nestled inside a converted railway arch, a microbrewery on one side and a closed-up office on the other. The outside is covered in bright graffiti: skates, scores, and stylised rollergirls on a track, hair whipping out behind them.

“You’ll love this place”, Angie says, bouncing on ahead towards the door. “It’s all owned and run by rollergirl-type folks, too: Kit’s been here for ten years, they’ll have fitted half the city.”

Inside, it smells of hot leather and plastics: at the back of the shop, Peggy can hear a machine going. “They do custom makes, right here: so it’s faster, and you can watch them going”, Angie explains, as a pink-haired assistant makes their way over with a smile.

“Hey, Angie!”, they say, pulling Angie in for a hug. “How’s it going - who’s your friend?”

“Kit, this is Peggy”, Angie says, and Peggy offers a hand. Kit’s a bright-eyed, short person with a soft voice and an easy smile: their shirt has the shop name painted with stylised graffiti, and as they shake, Peggy sees with delight that Kit’s done their nails to match their loud hair.

“She’s just started playing”, Angie continues. “We figured it was time to get her some decent beginners’ skates. She’s liking jamming, mostly: so I thought we’d also pick up some stronger kneepads.”

Kit nods, turning to Peggy. “You just started? Good choice: you having fun?” At Peggy’s nod, they clap her gently on a shoulder. “Well, why don’t you both have a look around: take your time, and just let me know when you’re ready for a proper fitting. Sound alright?”

Peggy nods again, smiling, and Kit wanders back over to the desk, where they sit up on the table, overseeing their assistant changing out some wheels on several pairs of skates. Angie’s already dragging Peggy over to a display: a row of glittery helmets in all colours, with matching decals for pads arranged beside them.

“They’ll wear out in five minutes, obviously”, Angie says, picking up a glittery green decal pack in any case, “but that’s why I’m happy they do stickers: they’re not going and charging extra for decorated pads, and you can customise them however and then change them out.”

“You should get that one”, Peggy says, squeezing Angie’s hands. “It’ll look beautiful with your green leggings.”

“On-brand, huh?”, Angie says. “What about you: any thoughts on your colour scheme?”

Peggy considers the display for some time: they’ve all kinds of colours, and piles of bright stickers of superheroes, cartoon characters, flowers and lightning bolts and all sorts. She hovers, smiling, over a full set of Avengers stickers, before reaching for a set of red, white and blue stars.

“Like Captain America, huh?”, Angie says. “You acclimatising to this town - liking our tasteful, subdued aesthetics?”

“Perhaps only infiltrating”, Peggy says. “It’s all tied in with my evil plan: soften up the locals and let them think I’m on board, before helping the Brits sneak in through Canada.”

“Well, I think you should definitely go with flag colours: no-one will even know they’re your flag too, huh, English?”, Angie says, loading up Peggy with striped panel decals and spray-on glitter. “Seriously, though: great choice. And you can change it later, if you want, too: the whole beauty of it is, these are interchangeable.”

Peggy nods, but, looking at the stickers, imagining stars scattered across her armour as she charges through blockers and flies around the track, she doesn’t think she’ll want to change them out. There’s a light feeling in her stomach: this decor has good associations. It’ll lift her up, make her stronger. Make her remember how powerful she can be.

“If that’s your colour scheme, we could totally add some laces”, Angie says, watching her face, and Peggy starts at being caught daydreaming, and follows her over to the next display.

“So, what are y’all looking for, do you think?”, Kit asks, when they’ve finally sat down with them on the comfy armchairs laid out in the fitting area. “Beginner, you said: so, low to mid-range, too?”

“Yes, that sounds right”, Peggy says. “And I think, at the moment, I’m more interested in speed and stability than in fine control: I haven’t yet quite learned all the tight swerves and quick stops, so once those are improved, I could look at something finer. For now, something basic and easy for learning would be great.”

“Very sensible indeed”, Kit says. “I figured as much, too: let’s measure you up, then we’ll try you with some of our best beginner brands. There’s a bit of space around the back, too, if you want to try anything out a bit faster than you can get up to inside.”

It’s a blur after that: there are six or seven pairs to try, and to Peggy they mostly feel the same. Kit and Angie keep up a conversation throughout, using a lot of terms Peggy doesn’t understand, turning to her occasionally to ask about how a pair fits or feels, until eventually, she settles on a lighter pair with a padded insole. They’re comfortable: with most of the skates not varying in the speed or control she can get up to, she decides being able to skate longer, and enjoying it more, would be a useful thing to prioritise. She skates a circuit around the shop, and skids to a neat toe-stop in front of the armchairs, to applause and smiles from Kit and Angie.

“They’re the ones, huh?”, Kit says. “They’re a good choice: here, we’ll get you a new set fitted up, those are just the display ones. Come on back in a couple hours, you can pick them up, okay? And we’ll fit on the standard beginner wheels - good balance between grip and give, and they’ll be perfect for you with your quick corners. They even come in red, so they’ll match your stickers. Okay?”

“Absolutely: we’ll see you soon. Thank you for all your help!”, Peggy says, and lets Angie drag her out the door.

“That was great!”, Angie squeaks, bouncing, as soon as they’re outside. “Your own skates! They’re going to feel so good at this week’s practice, you’ll see. Nothing like skates fitted exactly to you: it was good, huh? Did you like it?”

“I liked it. Thank you for organising this”, Peggy says, tipping up Angie’s chin so she can lean in and kiss her. “This is a lot of fun. And - didn’t you say we had something else on our list? Another… speciality shop?”

“Oh… ? Oh! Oh, yeah!”, Angie says, eyes widening. “Oh, honey: this is going to be the best day ever. Let’s go to Babeland!”

***

 

7.2

Around the corner from Babeland, they stop for coffee: pumpkin syrup for Peggy, who feels as though she’s still holding on to the last breaths of fall; gingerbread spices for Angie, barrelling ahead towards Christmas.

Angie hums Christmas carols as she’s shaking extra nutmeg onto her coffee, then suddenly turns to Peggy and asks, “is this all okay, by the way? You don’t feel like we’re going too fast?”

Peggy’s first thought is to jump into reassuring her, but she stops herself, and takes some time to think about it. It’s a good question.

“Thanks for asking”, she says, stirring syrup into her mug. “Let’s chat about it.”

They sit down, with Peggy still considering: she hasn’t yet thought about this. Slowly, she says, “No. I don’t feel like we’re going too fast. Thank you for asking: it’s a good thing to be talking about. And I think - were it with anyone else - no, it’s not that. Were I less enthusiastic about this? Then I’d want more time to think about it. But, Angie - “ - and she reaches over to envelop Angie’s hands with her own, wrapping warm around her mug - “- this is wonderful. I like this a lot - I like you a lot.”

“Cool”, Angie says, keeping one hand squeezed tight around Peggy’s as she takes a sip of coffee. “I like you too. I really like this: I just, didn’t want to scare you away or anything.”

Edinburgh on Tuesday, Dooley had said: but she surely won’t be away for too long. Peggy wonders whether she should even mention it.

“I think”, Peggy says, “I should tell you that I still don’t know if or when I might vanish suddenly. As you know, work goes up and down fast. It doesn’t mean I adore you any less: I just need you to understand that things sometimes become busier, and often without warning.”

Angie’s nodding already, and Peggy worries she hasn’t quite understood.

“No, no: I really mean it. I might miss dates. I might miss weekends. I know that I’ll have to be away for a couple of days this week, so I’ll probably miss practice. All of that: it makes it hard to plan things, and of course I’d like to try, but you need to know that sometimes I’ll have to break plans. I mean… I can offer to make it up to you, of course. However you’d prefer?” She picks up Angie’s hand, presses a warm, coffee-foam kiss to the inside of her wrist. “Work being a priority… doesn’t mean you’re not also a priority.”

Angie thinks for a minute, absently stroking a lock of Peggy’s hair, before she nods again. “Okay. Flexibility. That’s cool: I can work with that, and thanks for saying. I hope that - uh, whatever it is - this week goes okay. And anyway - it’s not as though I’m not getting called in at weird hours for last-minute shifts.”

She hasn’t yet pushed for more details, evidently content to let Peggy share as much as she wants to: grateful, Peggy picks up the offered change in topic.

“Last-minute shifts, of course: or, dare I say, last-minute auditions and callbacks?”, Peggy adds, gently.

“Sure: not those either. You’re right: I’ve gotta go for a few more. Should be enough roles in this town, if I’m not too choosy.”

“Well, and then hopefully you’ll be able to be more choosy later”, Peggy says. “I think you’d be wonderful: and, of course, it’d give us reasons to celebrate.”

“Even for some stupid commercials, right? Yeah, okay, we’ll celebrate all of them.” Angie’s quiet for a moment. “Don’t suppose I get to hear any more of what your work’s about, huh? Don’t usually find office workers having to do weekends - or being so cagey about their specifics.”

All right. Too much to hope, maybe, that she’d drop the topic altogether. Peggy sighs, dropping Angie’s hand and drinking her coffee, thinking quickly.

“Honestly: that’s really everything. More details would be terribly boring: I’ve a demanding boss, who needs a great deal of attention. Sometimes I have to accompany him out of town, or do a few extra hours.”

“You ever think about doing something else?”

Of course: any admin job under those conditions would be unreasonable. “Well, even with all that, I do enjoy it”, Peggy says. “The team are wonderful, and the work is useful. In any case - “ she casts around for a change of subject - “- what brought this on? Do you feel as though our buying a sex toy together would be too much of a commitment this early on?”

Angie laughs, lets her have the change of subject. “Not at all, sugar. It’d be a shame to have to put this date off till later, don’t you think?” She leans in close, speaking softer now, and Peggy remembers in a rush how she’d felt up close to her, skin on skin, gasping -

“Anyway”, Angie says, all husky. “Can’t imagine wanting anyone else on top of me with something you’ve wielded: wouldn’t be the same. It’s you I want. It’s all you, honey.”

Peggy smiles, and brushes over Angie’s lips with her own before she pulls back. “Well. In that case, do lead on.”

“Sure will”, Angie says, draining her cup. “This place is great: they’ve got display models of all their toys out, so you can see how they buzz, or how they feel, or how they - well, how they’ll look on.” She grins wickedly. “You’ll love it. Let’s see what looks exciting to you, huh?”

*

Babeland is all bright colours and sparkle, matter-of-fact displays and loud, laughing customers. Peggy walks in and immediately faces a display of colour co-ordinated vibrators and bondage equipment in friendly colours: she squeezes Angie’s hand as a grin breaks over her.

Angie stops her at the door. “Take it all in, honey”, she says, making a sweeping hand gesture.

“One day, Simba…”, Peggy answers in a low voice, but stands still anyway, letting her gaze wander slowly, from walls packed with shelves holding every shape of vibrator imaginable, to hanging strap-on harnesses in a rainbow of colours, to fluffy handcuffs and fluffier paddles, to -

“Oh! Books!”, says Peggy, already striding over to the laden shelves. She turns and holds out a hand to Angie, insistent. “Angie. _Books_.”

Angie looks as though she’s trying not to roll her eyes. “Books. Sure. Go on, then.”

The shelves are packed out with guides and stories, picture books and anthologies. Scanning the titles, Peggy sees they cover a huge array of orientations, interests and preferences. She runs her fingers over the matching spines of a series of collected lesbian erotica, then, seeing Angie staring, turns to her for a quick kiss.

“I’ve always bought this kind of thing online”, Peggy explains. “It’s lovely to be able to browse: to see things in person, and all collected together like this.”

“Oh? So - what kinds of things have you bought online? Anything that… oh, my, tickled your fancy, missus?”

“… Don’t ever do that accent again”, Peggy says. “And, well - it was some time ago.” She offers Angie an arm. “I’m very interested in what’s new and exciting. Care to show me around a few models?”

There’s a table in the room’s centre, vibrators laid out on it in several sections, all with labels attached with ribbon. Seeing them looking, an assistant comes over.

“Hey there! First time? Well, it’s lovely to have y’all here: welcome!” Her tightly curled, black hair is cropped in close to her head, and she’s wearing a bright, feathered fascinator over the top, matching her peacock-bold make-up. Peggy had seen her earlier, laughing with some other customers over the table.

“Thanks!”, Angie says. “Yeah, first time: want to give us the tour?”

“Well! I see y’all have found our centrepiece already then, huh? Everything we sell here, you can try out and play with right here. This part’s clit vibes, over there we’ve got insertables, then combinations right there: easy, huh?” She picks up a small red silicone vibrator and hands it to Peggy. “You’ll see how everything’s got a label on: that’ll tell you if it takes a charger or batteries, what it’s made of, volume, speeds, that kinda thing. But, best thing to do’s just to have a feel of a bunch, see what you think.”

With that, she reaches in and turns on the vibrator in Peggy’s hands: it buzzes to life strong and sudden, making Peggy start, then laugh. The assistant smiles back. “Fun, huh? Take all the time you need, and let me know if you need help with anything, okay? Enjoy!”

She wanders off, Angie grinning after her. The vibrator’s still buzzing in Peggy’s hand: she reaches for the “off” switch, then reconsiders, and turns it up higher. It’s a small, squishy, friendly-looking thing: silicone flower shapes stamped into a smooth shaft, and she experiments to find the buzzing turns up high and strong, before turning into pulses.

“Would it be terribly immature to start racing these across the table?”, she asks Angie, placing it down: it lets out a loud rattle as the hard plastic end connects with the table, and she snatches it up again.

“I don’t know: I can’t imagine it’s something the folks working here have never done, can you?”, Angie says, picking up a little silver bullet and turning it on. “Here, try this.” She comes at Peggy’s face with the toy, and before Peggy can react, she’s pressing it up against the end of her nose. Peggy quite suddenly feels the vibration strongly - it’s inside? her face? - she pulls back, wrinkles her nose, then sneezes.

“Well! That was - a strange and confusing experience”, she says, once she’s recovered.

“Don’t know what else you expected from a sex life with me, honey”, Angie says, unperturbed, holding the bullet to her own nose. “Seriously: it’s a great way to find out how it might feel. Without, y’know. Breaking any laws. See anything you like?”

Peggy picks up the red toy again. “I like this one.” She looks at the label, and sees the price. “Oh. Maybe something else: I don’t recall things being quite this expensive a few years back.”

Angie comes in close to read the label with her. “Yeesh - oh, I see: it’s rechargeable. It’s made properly, this kind of thing: no doubt they’ll have cheaper things here too, but you might find they break down. That blue one I’ve got? Same kinda make: it cost a bomb, but it’s lasted, and it’s quiet. And no batteries to mess about with, either.” She leans in close and pecks Peggy’s cheek. “And I think… we should treat your vagina, and your orgasms, very well indeed. Especially if you’re going to all the trouble - “ - she kisses slowly down to Peggy’s throat - “- of being so very good to mine.”

Peggy turns her head, catches Angie’s lips with her own. “All right. Well, I’ll think about it. Why don’t we look at something for you?”

*

Peggy had owned and used a strap-on on someone else, a long time ago. A small one, and she had built up slowly to it, going gently and carefully. Now, Angie jolts her abruptly out of the memory: she bounces over to the display, and immediately snatches up the largest of the dildos there.

“This’ll work! This’ll be great!”, she sings out, wrapping one hand around the shaft, comparing the size of it to her own bunched-together fingers. It’s definitely wider than even all four of Angie’s fingers. Peggy walks over, and gently wraps her own hand around Angie’s - thinks briefly of something that size inside her, of Angie pushing, stretching her open - then brings herself back, thinks about practicalities.

“Well, it’s lovely”, she says placatingly. “Would you want to consider something a little easier? I’m worried about tiring you out - it’d be more fun to go for longer, don’t you think? And we could consider something we could both use, as well: and that one’s definitely too large for me.”

“Well, English: now you put it like that…” Angie puts the dildo back, and paces the display, contemplating. They’ve all colours; all shapes. Sizes no larger than a finger to something more like a bunched-up hand, but most of them are a comfortable medium. Some of them, Peggy sees, have stars stuck underneath them on the shelves -

“Ah. Look, Angie: these are their most popular ones.” She gathers them up, and there’s one that catches her eye: it starts small, then several waves on the shaft have it end in a thicker base. If Angie wants something bigger, she thinks, she could grind that down against her, full and deep - or it’s small enough that they could both go hard at each other if they wanted. She swallows, and holds it out. “How about this one?”

Angie doesn’t look at the dildo: she’s looking back at Peggy. “I think we’ve got a winner, honey. Anything that gets you all spaced-out like that. You want to… try it on?”

“Can I? How - ?”

Angie’s already pointing to a wall with harnesses hanging up in rows: they’re display models, and, indeed, there’s a cubicle with a curtain next to them. Seeing them looking, their assistant from earlier wanders over. “They’re all adjustable, darlings: just grab whatever looks good to you and feel free to give it a try. They’ll go on just fine over your jeans.” Seeing the dildo in Peggy’s hand, she smiles. “Good choice, there: we’ve had lots of great feedback on that model, especially from first-timers. Take that display one in with you if you like: it’s always fun to see how it’ll look in position.”

She leaves them to it, and Angie turns to Peggy with a grin. “Let’s do it! Yeah?”

Peggy returns her smile. “Absolutely.”

They each choose a couple of harnesses: a thick, corset-backed one, and a thinner velvet one for Peggy; simple neoprene for Angie. Inside the cubicle, as Angie pulls the straps tight, Peggy takes note in the mirror of the way the straps frame her bottom, and the tight, solid feeling once the harness is fitted on her. She turns to look at the laced-up panel covering her lower back, and it’s lovely: she smiles to think about seeing this on Angie’s naked skin.

“Well, it’s gorgeous, you’ve got that right. Damn, your ass looks great. Lucky me”, Angie says, grinding up against her. “Look, it even comes in different colours: we could match it to the toy. I worry, though: leather’s so hard to clean, it’d go sticky in about five minutes.”

Peggy nods, not taking her eyes off the mirror. “The label said the neoprene one could be machine-washed. Shall we try that?”

“Sure, honey. Just one more minute.” With that, Angie drops to her knees in front of Peggy, and fiddles again with the straps to get the dildo positioned. She stays right there, leaning back on her heels: Peggy looks at them both in the mirror, and catches her breath.

Angie looks beautiful: she’s cheerful and enthusiastic, and as Peggy watches, she reaches out a hand to nudge the dildo and send it bouncing between her legs. Peggy laughs out loud: it looks ridiculous, all bright red and silly, yet full of promise and potential. It feels heavy on her: there’s power, there, and intentionality, and a hint, too, of service. She’ll be making Angie feel good, using this: she’ll be able to focus entirely on her.

Peggy looks down at Angie, and thinks: it’s the aesthetic she’ll be enjoying, mostly. She thinks she’d like to see Angie on her knees like this at home: running her hands over the dildo, or holding Angie’s head while it fills her mouth, letting her feel the thickness that’ll soon be inside her -

Oh, yes. This was a good idea. Peggy catches Angie’s eyes again, and sees they’re as big and dark as she knows her own to be. She’s breathing faster, watching Peggy as though she can’t look away. Peggy drops to her knees with Angie and kisses her deeply, holds her shoulders tight.

“I think this model’s perfect, and we should take it home right away. Don’t you agree?”

***

 

7.3

They get the neoprene harness in the end: it’s almost as beautiful as the leather model, and Peggy appreciates the tough, bold look of the red dildo with the black harness. Last-minute, Angie darts back to the display and grabs the little red vibrator. “My treat”, she says. “And anyway, it’ll match: and you should have something high-quality.”

Peggy’s touched: Angie’s salary can’t be that generous. She leans in to peck her in thanks. “Like I said, English: you deserve the best”, Angie continues. “And more exciting things to take home’s no bad thing.”

Back at her place, Angie doesn’t hesitate: she pushes Peggy down onto the bed and straddles her to kiss her deeply, grinding against her through their jeans. “This okay?”, Angie asks, between kisses. “You don’t want - food - or a rest - or anything like that? We can - totally - come back to this - “

“This is excellent”, Peggy mumbles back, half-muffled by Angie’s shoulder. “Let’s try it. If you’d like to?”

“Mmhm”, Angie says, kissing down Peggy’s chest and pulling up her shirt to kiss over her stomach.

There’s none of the slowness of earlier: Angie’s taking off both their clothes before Peggy can even reach for her, pulling her own shirt over her head without unbuttoning it. Angie comes back to grind against Peggy’s thigh as she’s kissing her, before breaking away, breathing heavily, and reaching for the shopping bag.

Peggy watches her: she unwraps the harness carefully, tears the dildo’s box open. The red of the toy stands out: against her skin, against the pale bedsheets, and Angie places it upright on the bedside table before guiding Peggy to stand up, where she can, again, help her get the harness on. On her knees, naked under Peggy, Angie pushes the dildo into place, and it’s as though she’d read Peggy’s mind: she doesn’t hesitate before leaning forward and engulfing the toy with her mouth.

Peggy gasps aloud: Angie’s mouth is stretched tight around the dildo, her own hand is already working between her legs, and more than that, Peggy can _feel_ this. Angie’s grinding the base of the dildo down onto Peggy’s clit, pushing rhythmically as she works up and down. Peggy holds onto her shoulders and moans aloud as she grinds down, finally withdrawing when she can feel her hips wanting, desperately, to thrust her further in.

Angie leans back and looks up: her lips are red and swollen, and she grins. “Good?”

Peggy’s holding on to the wall, weak-kneed. “Yes. Gosh. Why don’t you - would you like to be on top?”

“Absolutely, honey”, Angie says, cool as anything. “Come here.” She lies down beside Peggy on the bed, kissing her, running her hands over her body till Peggy’s breathing harder under her. “Okay?”, she asks, as she straddles her, and to Peggy’s nod, grabs some lube and runs herself, in slow circles, over the tip of the dildo. Peggy feels the moment she makes contact with it on her clit: her smooth pace breaks, and her thighs clench up around Peggy’s own.

Angie takes Peggy’s hand and guides it to her clit as she pushes herself down, slowly, onto the dildo. She’s gasping - it’s still big, Peggy imagines, to take without warmup - but Peggy strokes her steadily and Angie pushes down until finally she’s sitting flush to Peggy’s hips, Peggy’s fingers still working under her. She clenches around the dildo - Peggy can feel it as a twitch of the toy on herself, and she thrusts up experimentally, lets herself grind up against Angie, and feels her own pleasure blooming in response.

“You’re all right?”, she asks, stroking Angie’s thigh with one hand, still making gentle circles over her clit with the other, and Angie nods. “Would you like more?”, and she nods again, rises up and thrusts down against Peggy, making them both cry out aloud.

“Keep your hand going - like that, that’s good”, Angie gasps out, and Peggy follows her movements, moving as firmly and steadily as she can as Angie rides her.

She barely has time to appreciate the view: Angie comes fast and hard on her, falling forwards and letting out a ragged yell into Peggy’s shoulder, her pace dying. Peggy holds tight to her hip and thrusts up into her, managing to keep going all throughout Angie clenching and moaning on top of her, finally slowing her pace as she relaxes.

Angie breathes deeply on top of her, still buried in Peggy’s shoulder, still full of the toy. Peggy can feel her heart hammering against her own chest, and she brings both hands up to stroke over Angie’s shoulders and through her hair, a little dazed at what had just happened.

“That”, Angie says, turning her head towards Peggy to gasp in more air, “was awesome. You never said you were so good at this, English! That was great. Best - best ever.” She sounds drunk, a little slurred, a little out of it herself.

“ _You’re_ awesome”, Peggy fires back, tired out. Angie slips off the toy and curls up into Peggy’s side, for all the world as though she’s ready to sleep: Peggy carefully slides off the harness and leaves it at the end of the bed. They can take care of it later. When she turns back to Angie, she’s already snoring.

***


	8. Chapter 8

 

8.1

When Peggy awakens the next morning, Angie’s curled up against her side, snoring gently. She’s drooling onto Peggy’s shoulder. Peggy grins, and reaches carefully for her phone: the alarm hasn’t yet rung, so she can take some time to read in bed and enjoy Angie’s warmth beside her.

Her plan evaporates as soon as she sees the message on her phone. _New intelligence from Edinburgh. Come in ASAP._

“Angie. Hey, honey”, Peggy says softly, stroking over Angie’s hair and shoulders. Angie’s forehead creases up, and then she’s moving all at once, back stretching and arms unfurling to drape back over Peggy. “Hmmm?”, she says, settling back down into Peggy’s shoulder.

“I have to go, sweetie”, Peggy says, disentangling herself. Angie’s on a later shift: she wants to avoid waking her all the way up if possible. “I’ll see you tonight, if that’s all right? Give me a ring when you’re done at work.”

“ ‘kay”, Angie mumbles at her, rolling over and burying herself under the blankets. Peggy spares one more moment to imagine staying: turning off her phone, curling up in the dark against Angie’s back. The weekend had felt like a different life: one without responsibilities, without Shield, without her colleagues looking to her to safeguard entire cities of people. If Angie could build a whole life around her friends in the derby community…

Still. Peggy knows she wouldn’t have it any other way: a teenage stint in retail had shown her she’d be bored without danger, and an initial posting in Shield’s technical support division had led to her stamping into Fury’s office, demanding she be put into the field immediately. More than that: May, and Coulson, and Simmons - they’re not only colleagues, they’re her friends. They’ve been floundering in the dark as much as she has, and she needs to get out there and help them.

All that said: if the situation in Edinburgh has changed, she may not be sent out there the next morning. Perhaps there’s no use in telling Angie she’ll be leaving in the morning, if she’s not yet sure. It could be she’ll wake up late tomorrow with Angie, and go in for another ordinary day in the office.

*

Peggy arrives at work to find Sousa trying to talk down a red-faced, yelling Dooley: as soon as he sees Peggy, Dooley turns onto her. “Carter! May’s spouting some horseshit about taking Simmons in for first-hand fieldwork experience. You know anything about that?”

Huh. May must think there’s very little threat, if she’s willing to turn the mission into a training exercise. Goodness knows Simmons has been worried about starting out in fieldwork: the whole team’s been holding her up, making sure she doesn’t break.

Still in her coat, Peggy follows Dooley into his office, and stands to attention. “I’m afraid she hasn’t mentioned anything to me, sir. If we have them on comms, I can attempt to establish the situation - “

“Sure, we’ve got comms. Not that they’re telling us anything useful: just that the two of them decided to send in Simmons on a perimeter trek to gather intel on her own. Dressed her up as some tourist. Didn’t even run it past Command: all we know is, Simmons is out wandering the city and May’s perched on some sniper post, waiting in case there’s trouble.”

Peggy opens her mouth to reassure him, and then, after a moment, closes it again. This - doesn’t actually sound like a problem.

“Sir”, she says, speaking slow and thoughtful. “Do you mean to say that you’re - concerned, because May has seen fit to do some training alongside a routine mission? Because my impression has been that experienced field agents are generally trusted to make their own judgements. We’re here to support them. Is that correct?”

Dooley sputters and starts to reply, but Peggy cuts him off. His opinion of Simmons is clear: it’s not something she needs to hear again. She remembers, all of a sudden, how nervous Lorraine had been on the first day of fresh meat: all tentative steps and out-flung arms, terrified of falling. These girls: they don’t need protection. They need experience.

“I think I see what’s going on”, Peggy continues, her voice rising. “You’ve had even less trust for this team ever since Coulson was recalled, is that right? Even with May in charge, you’ve been insistent on micromanaging their every step. Now, we both know that May is an exemplary agent, but I think it confuses you that she and Morse are so willing to make time to help less experienced agents. Is that right? You think that a few anxiety attacks means that we should just lock Simmons into some lab for the rest of her years here.”

She’s angrier now, imagining herself accelerating around the track, hurtling towards a collision and shoring up confidence that she’ll bring in the greater impact. “Sir, that’s not how this works. Coulson’s been in and out of fieldwork more times than I can count, and I haven’t seen anyone express doubt in his competence.” She holds up a hand as he opens his mouth. “Let’s just say it, shall we? She’s a young woman, and you doubt her. Where on earth do you think some of your best agents started? Do you think that May, or Morse - or, or, I - progressed smoothly since day one?”

Her heart’s thudding in her ears: there’s no going back now, but she realises, she’d made up her mind a long time ago. She straightens up, and walks closer to him.

“You know, sir? I’m done here. I’ve been long overdue to get back into the field for quite some time, now. I won’t be needing my desk, after today.”

She turns on her heel, and walks for the door. One more thought strikes her as she grabs the handle.

“Oh, and another thing? It clearly states in the Shield handbook - section 4, part 6.3, paragraph (b), if you’d like to check - that sexual harassment of any Shield employees is not to be tolerated. Shield employees, of course, do include coffee girls, and secretaries, and any other unfortunate workers that you might see fit to bring up to this office. I will, of course, be filing a formal complaint. Good day.”

She lets the door slam as she leaves, and doesn’t stop walking until she gets to the street.

*

Sousa catches up with her in a nearby cafe, where she’s nursing a tea and an ear-splitting grin. Her heart is still pounding, and a fresh text from Director Fury is open on her phone, confirming that he’d be delighted to see her return to fieldwork as soon as she’s back in New York.

“You okay?”, he says, and she nods, still grinning, her whole body humming. She won’t get to work with Sousa anymore, she won’t be based safely in the office - but oh, she’s ready. Has been ready for weeks, it feels like.

He smiles back at her. “Well, okay then.” He digs around in his bag, and puts a tablet onto the table: it’s showing a map of central Edinburgh, overlaid with a grid covered in different-coloured dots.

“Here’s what I’ve got for you: those red and orange dots are places we’ve spotted Hydra agents on the lookout, or leaving dead drops, right?” He leans in, and fiddles with the grid to zoom in the map. “But, get this: I figured you’d want some more info. So those, in purple, are the best coffee places on the main strip, and, look there: that place will do you good tacos, and that one has great noodles. The internet said this one has good pies, and that one will do you the best, uh, haggis. Whatever that is. There’s notes on them, too, if you open them up.”

Peggy starts to laugh, but he continues, still earnest: “it’s not only for you! Figured that as well as getting lunch, you and the team might want to set up an outpost in a couple of these. Hydra have got to eat too, huh? Anyway - I sent it all to your notes.”

Peggy wants to hug him, and after a moment, she gets up and does so: she can feel his hands come up to pat her back, a little stiffly. “Daniel. That’s very thoughtful of you, to consider not only our caffeine supply, but alternative - and comfortable! - places of surveillance. Thank you. I’ll be sure to let May know: she’s been up on that rooftop, in the rain, most of the afternoon.”

“Careful out there, huh, Peggy?”, Daniel says, pulling back. “And - you know - won’t be the same around here without you. Come say hello when you’re back in town, all right?”

“Of course”, Peggy says, smiling back at him. “Daniel: it’s been such a pleasure. Very best of luck with him upstairs, all right? And feel free to let me know if there’s any trouble.”

Sousa laughs. “Will do. I’ll see you soon - and good luck.”

***

 

8.2.

Peggy’s deep under, caught up in a dream where she’s chasing Hydra agents on roller skates around a track, when she realises the loud buzzing sound that one of the agents is emitting is actually coming from her real-life Shield phone.

The room’s dark: Angie had been asleep when Peggy had arrived, and had already drawn the curtains tight to block out the yellow glow of the streetlights and the flashing neon from the cinema opposite the Griffith. Peggy gropes, bleary-eyed, finding her bag in the dark and pulling out her phone. It’s Sousa.

“Bzuh?”, she says, and clears her throat. “I mean - Daniel. What’s going on?”

“Peggy! Thank God”, he says. He sounds rushed, and is surrounded by background noises: shuffling, and banging, and an engine. Is he in a car? “Peggy, you’re at that old hotel, right? You’ve got to get out of there. Hydra are on their way: they’re after you. We’re tailing them, but - “

Peggy’s already moving: she turns on the light, then, thinking about it, turns it off again. Reaches out to shake Angie awake, the phone still pressed to her ear. “Daniel. How long? How many?”

“Don’t know how many”, he says, then the background noise amps up, Sousa’s voice muffled in the distance - he must be holding the phone out while he yells out orders. Peggy strains to hear him - and then he’s back. “Five minutes. Maybe less. Far as we know, it’s just you they want - must’ve caught wind you were headed out tomorrow. Peggy, look, enough talk - we’re coming, we’ll be there as soon as we can. But you’ve got to get out of there.”

“Roger that”, Peggy says, dropping the phone as Angie sits up beside her. It doesn’t even occur to her to think up some story: there’s no time. “Angie”, she says, leaning close, speaking quietly. “Angie, are you awake? I need to tell you something.”

“S’okay, English, I know you got the hots for me - “, Angie begins blearily, rubbing her hands over her face.

“Honey, no: it’s not that. I’m sorry - Angie, I’m so sorry, but we have to go”, Peggy says, grabbing at Angie’s hands so she can look into her face. “Angie. Listen. I’ve… been compromised. I’m with Shield, and there are some very bad people on their way here. We both have to get out of here: how can we go without being seen?”

Angie blinks at her for only half a second before Peggy hears the screech of cars pulling up on the driveway outside. It could be the sound, or Peggy’s urgent expression, but Angie snaps into action: she gets up and heads to the door, where she turns the lock. No deadbolts, no extra security: the Griffith hadn’t expected any trouble. Peggy thinks, dismayed, of the other residents…

“We’ll talk about this later”, Angie says as she crosses over to the window. She cracks the curtain the merest twitch, looking out at the street. “Okay, they’re all coming inside. And they’re all in… now. Come on.” She throws the curtain open and cracks the window. “Get on the fire escape. I’ll cover for you.”

“Angie, honey, I owe you - “

“ _Now_ , English. Go.”

Peggy crouches on the metal stairs, and catches one glimpse of Angie’s frightened face before she pulls the curtain back again. She’s left the window open: Peggy can clearly hear her crossing back into the bed, and the Hydra agents thumping their way through the building. They don’t pause: it’s only a few seconds before they’re hammering on Angie’s door, and, finding it locked, start raining vicious kicks against it.

Angie doesn’t make a sound: not until Peggy hears the door break inwards and booted feet stomp their way into the room. Someone turns on a light: Peggy recoils from the sudden brightness, and bites down on her hand so as not to gasp out loud.

“Where is she?”, a deep voice barks out at Angie. That’s when Peggy hears, with perfect clarity, the sound of a gun cocking, and her head swims. She’s dizzy: tries to focus on her feet, solid on the fire escape; on the pain in her hand as she’s biting down. Angie - Angie replies. And… she sounds half-asleep.

“Whassat? You want - what d’you want, s’just me here - “

Heavy boots move their way to the bed. “Carter, bitch. Where’s Carter? We know she was with you.”

Angie’s tone doesn’t waver, and Peggy’s hand moves slowly away from her mouth, her fear draining out to be replaced by awe.

“You want what? I dunno, haven’t seen her - said we were dating, but ain’t seen her, not in days.” She trails off. “You think we’re dating? If she ain’t calling, ain’t seeing you, you think it’s… what’s the word… something, something real?”

“Whatever, man”, another voice says from the other side of the room. “She’s drunk, or high or something: we’re not getting anything out of her.”

Angie’s still mumbling to herself, too soft for Peggy to catch; with a disgusted sound, her interrogator moves back towards the door. “Check the others”, he barks out. “You, out back. You and you, cover the doors. We’ll flush her out.” With that, they leave Angie’s room: a few long seconds later, Angie’s face appears again at the window. She pulls the curtain, and holds the window open, but she doesn’t look at Peggy.

There’s no time to talk: Peggy hears more cars approaching, and as she looks down, she sees Daniel stepping out of a Shield vehicle. Agents pour out of two more vehicles, and he directs them quickly: some around the back, some in through the front door. He looks up, catches her eye: seeing she’s all right, he gives her a thumbs-up. Peggy can’t quite bring herself to return it.

Shield’s agents pour in fast: Peggy hears running feet outside the door, then a scuffle at the end of the corridor. As Hydra are marched back the way they came, Peggy wraps a dressing gown around her, layered on top of her pyjamas, and, pistol in hand, goes out to meet Shield. Thompson’s leading up a squad of agents, paired off with Hydra prisoners: she nods as he walks past, then follows behind them to debrief with Sousa on the ground floor.

“Hadn’t expected to see you again so soon”, Sousa says, trying for lightness and falling a little short. He slams the door on the last of the Hydra agents, piled into the back of a Shield van. “These guys had planned an attack in sync with the UK, before the UK team got spooked and went onto lockdown in Edinburgh. Guess they decided they might as well go for it anyway. You okay?”

“Yeah”, Peggy says, leaning against the front gate. “I’m all right. But - how did they know to come here? The residents - Angie’s housemates - “

“Could be anything. We’ll look into it”, Daniel says. “Wasn’t uncommon knowledge, that you’ve been spending time here, though: could be we won’t find out. We’ll get our people out here in the morning, make sure extra security’s fitted. You want them to debrief the residents, too?”

Peggy can’t imagine facing even Angie, let alone a dozen more Griffith residents. Telling them she’d brought danger into their home, into their bedrooms - “yes, please”, she says. “Thank you, Daniel.”

“No problem”, he says. “Got to get these back, okay? Edinburgh’s still going ahead. Safe travels tomorrow, and we’ll be in touch if there’s anything, okay? My regards to the team.” With that, he claps the back of the van, and goes to climb in to the passenger seat. Peggy’s left standing, adrenaline fading, on the sidewalk: not sure what else to do, she heads back inside.

***

 

8.3.

Angie whirls around and turns onto her as soon as Peggy steps back into her room.

“Are you kidding me, English?”, she says in a furious undertone, all traces of her earlier feigned confusion gone. “You’re Shield? You’re Shield, and that was Hydra, and you never thought to tell me? That that was something I should know?”

Peggy hasn’t had time to react, yet: she holds up a hand for quiet, and sinks into a chair. Angie ignores her and starts pacing across the floor, her voice growing higher.

“Relationships 101, English, goddamnit: do you even know what “full consent” means? You give the other person the tools to consent properly. _You let them know of risks so they can think about them and make informed decisions._  Those goons? They had _guns_. They were here, in my home. They could have killed me. You ever think about that?”

\- and Peggy’s stomach has dropped, down and down, and she’s looking at the floor as the realisation hits her: _of course_. This was never just about her. She could have never kept Angie from harm just by keeping her in the dark.

She realises she’s been staring at Angie’s feet, now still, facing her, one foot tapping impatiently. She looks up at Angie, past crossed arms to a stormy face, and finds that she has no words: Angie’s right. Excuses and evasiveness: sure, she’d kept her confidentiality agreement with Shield, but she’d endangered Angie, and hadn’t even let her choose it.

Angie’s still waiting. “You’re right”, Peggy begins. “I’m - so sorry, I…”

Angie seems to have been waiting for Peggy to speak, just so she can interrupt her and go off again. “Sure. Sure, you’re sorry now: you know what kind of a violation this feels like?” She’s pacing again, waving her arms. “And… goddamn, English. I thought - I thought…”

Peggy opens her mouth to speak, then closes it again, waiting, barely breathing.

“I thought we might be on track to something serious, here”, Angie says, sitting down on the edge of the bed. She’s facing away from Peggy, and now drops her head into her hands, muffling her voice. “I didn’t say it: it was too early, but oh, I wanted it. I thought we might have it. I thought you - “ and she straightens up, swipes the heels of her hands under her eyes, all sharp and angry - “but whatever. Obvious it was a one-sided thing: there’s no-one interested in something serious if they’re not even respecting you enough to trust you with the truth, huh? Never mind.”

Peggy wants to tell her: yes, she’d been serious, yes, she’d wanted to try, and she hasn’t felt something this real and this solid in a long time, but the words vanish away. They’d be cheap and insincere: she should have told Angie. She should have let her decide.

“I’m sorry. You’re right”, Peggy says slowly. “This wasn’t fair on you, and I should have said something. It’s just that - “ she sees Angie lose interest at this, her shoulders shrugging convulsively and her head dropping down again, but she ploughs on, not sure what else to do - “it’s just that that’s how it is, in this line of work. Everyone else does the same, and I never thought I’d date seriously - I haven’t, not in a long time. I… never thought I would, and then this happened, and it was so much more than I thought it would be, so much better… I’m sorry. You deserve better.”

“Damn right I do”, Angie says, muffled and soggy now. “Stupid me, thinking I’d have a chance, anyway - should have known the first time you made it clear you were - you were more interested in work. Than in having a relationship with an actual human. They know what you’re giving up there, huh? You think it’s worth it?”

It’s something Peggy’s thought about before: is it worth it? She’d always come up with _yes, yes: help people, do them good_ , and now, facing Angie, brimming eyes turned to look into hers, she realises: yes, it hurts. But the answer hasn’t changed, and anger of her own - warm, and righteous - blooms up inside her, too.

“You know? I’ve considered that. And yes. It is. It’s _Shield_ , Angie. It’s important, and - if someone can’t understand that, well, then I’m sure I’ve no business trusting that person with my time, in any case.”

“Oh, yeah? You going to say that to your next squeeze, huh? “Sorry, darling, but I’m only cheating on my job to be with you - you understand, it’s for the good of the country”, huh?”

“Well, at least I’m taking my work seriously”, Peggy bites out, anger flashing hot inside her. “I’ve a career, and I’m putting in the time: what are you doing? All your big talk about your dreams, and you won’t even put in the work towards them? Waste of damn time and talent, if your performance for those agents was anything to go by.”

Angie’s silent for a long moment, looking at Peggy, then looking away. She’s quiet, when she speaks, and sounds tired. “Right. So - that’s how it is. You know what, English? I think we’re done here. You can get a taxi from downstairs. Good luck at work.”

“I think we _are_  done here”, Peggy snaps back, before Angie’s finished speaking, before she can even think about it. “Good luck with all those auditions you’re planning for, hmm?” With that, she grabs her bag, and her piled-up clothes, and stalks out, determined not to look back.

She’s almost surprised when Angie slams the door behind her without another word: the sound shakes her, clears her head a little to make space for the first tendrils of _what have you done?_  to curl into her mind. Anger is easier: she changes in the hallway, and leaves Angie’s dressing gown folded by the door. Making for the stairs, she feels the urge to run, panic and adrenaline powering up inside her. _What have you done?_

She breathes, and holds her bag close: a few more steps, and the cold shock of the air hits her. Concentrates on the brisk chill in her lungs, the rain on her face: one foot in front of the other, and she’s at the road.

It doesn’t take long for a taxi to arrive. As it pulls away, Peggy looks up to Angie’s window: it’s dark, and empty. Righteousness, again, rises up in her: Angie had never cared. She would have respected Peggy’s need for space if she had. And hadn’t Peggy warned her, multiple times? She’d given her plenty of information with which to make her decisions.

She won’t have time to dwell on Angie in the next few days, anyway. She’s headed to the airport.

***


	9. Chapter 9

 

9.1.

All the way to Edinburgh, Peggy runs her conversations with Angie over and over in her mind. Their last, shouted argument, but previous ones, too: she remembers their coffee date from just two days previously, where Angie had assured her she didn’t mind Peggy’s work schedule being unpredictable. Their first conversations at the diner, commiserating over dealing with entitled men in their respective workplaces. Angie talking about why she loved to skate: how it made her feel powerful, an unstoppable force.

She’d said she was okay with Peggy’s work. She’d said she was flexible. She’d said she wanted to be in this for the long haul.

Peggy can’t even bring herself to think of Angie as having lied about any of this, either. Cancelling dates last-minute was one thing: gun-toting Hydra goons turning up in Angie’s bedroom was quite another. She shouldn’t have risked Angie. She should have told her.

But… it had been so soon. They’d barely started dating: and sure, they’d both said they were interested, but Peggy knew how unimpressed Shield would have been had she’d told Angie about her work any earlier. It wasn’t done: agents kept things with civilians casual, or they didn’t bother dating, or they dated within the organisation.

Peggy can’t bear to think of Angie as simply a “civilian”. She’s… her partner.

Maybe she should have just taken Hill up on her offer.

… Maybe she still can.

*

Peggy lands in Edinburgh onto rain-slicked concrete under a darkening grey sky. There’s no-one to meet her: just a few texts from May and a new briefing from Sousa. She checks the texts first.

Simmons is fine. She’d run into a few Hydra agents on her walk around the base, and talked her way smoothly through conversations with them. Toting a camera and a bright anorak, it had been easy for her to play the tourist: Hydra’s agents had simply grunted and waved her onwards, and one had even responded to her chirpy questions and open smile with some new intelligence.

May’s delighted: she’s always said that sweet-talking’s far more useful than anything agents can do with guns of their fists. Harder to learn, too. She’s formulating a plan, she tells Peggy: she’ll fill her in once she arrives.

Distantly, Peggy’s happy for the team: Simmons doing well is great. Of course her getting back into fieldwork is wonderful. But she seems to be feeling it all dully: new information coming in slowly and through a thick fog.

She boards her train, thinking of not much in particular, mostly trying to beat back the thoughts of Angie hitting the forefront of her mind every few minutes, leaving a dull, hollow feeling in their wake. Her inner chorus of _what have you done?_ is louder now, and she fights it down, focuses on what’s in front of her. New fieldwork. A new plan. Working with old friends -

Angie deserved better. She should find someone better. She will -

No. Peggy has work to do. She has to meet May.

*

Peggy meets May and Morse at a burger place, where May rises to give her a tight hug. She orders food, and lets them fill her in.

“It’s a small cell, still”, May says, tearing in to a plate of fries. “Listen: we’ve done some preliminary listening in, and everything points to this being a super-weapon. Some way to turn Edinburgh residents into volatile super-soldiers. When they took in Coulson and myself, I left a bug on one of their computers: they’re getting ready to start the project now.”

“If they’re gearing up here, should we warn New York too?”, Peggy asks. “I know Thompson’s been working on a local cell, who seem to be planning something around Central Park…”

“That one’s a maybe”, Morse says. “Everything we’ve found so far would seem to suggest that actually… these guys are marginal. Their whole look, their uniforms: it’s not something I’ve seen before, and both the London and Edinburgh projects aren’t something any of our insiders have caught. We’re starting to think they’re a rogue faction: splitting off from Hydra, and now doing their own thing.”

May nods. “It would make sense: Hydra has always had infighting, mostly initiated by people who think they should be more radical, and hit population centres harder. This would match that pattern: there’s no reason to send human bombs haphazardly out into major cities, unless you’re simply looking to cause non-specific chaos. A few people blow up and cause deaths and fires? Anyone with a grudge will claim the attack as their own, or against their own, and before you know it, everything’s escalating.”

“Here’s the plan”, Morse says, leaning in. “The bugs mean we’re ready to take these people in. I’m sorry we couldn’t send more specific information to New York: you understand, doubtless they’ve insiders too, watching our comms. But we’ve arranged Shield teams already. We’re going to go in and shut down their power from their central control room. That’ll leave space for dozens of our guys to swoop in and take the compound. Awesome, huh?”

Peggy looks up, and smiles back at her. Just a few hours after speaking with Fury, she’s back in the field, making plans with trusted teammates. Her heart feels as though it’s lifted about three feet.

“Oh, yes: very awesome”, she says. “That’s our assignment, then: get into their building, and shut down the power? Are we taking Simmons?”

“Absolutely”, May says. “I’ll stay behind to run support and guide you; Bobbi will take you and Simmons in. Jemma’s shown herself as being more than capable of quick thinking and clear-headedness around danger: she’ll be an asset to your team. We’ll head out tonight.”

Peggy straightens up. She can do this: she’s good at this. And it’ll take her mind off… everything else.

*

That night, Morse, Simmons, and Peggy make their way into the ruined apartment block that Hydra are using, getting in through the basement from next door. May’s speaking into Morse’s ear, guiding them along: up some back stairs, through old office closets, and finally, to an area that’s obviously been recently fortified.

Simmons is quiet, and efficient, at total odds with how both she and Peggy had squealed excitedly to catch up with each other earlier. She points silently to where there’s a blinking control panel visible through a ruined doorway, and Morse nods, signals the both of them to take her six. It’s only once Morse steps through the doorway that things start to go wrong.

Shiny metal bars thump down through the ruined wood and peeling paper that surrounds the doorway, locking Morse in, just as the room’s lights slam on, illuminating three Hydra agents making their way fast towards Peggy and Simmons. For just a moment, Peggy panics: wonders if she can really handle this, if she’s really ready, if Simmons is going to die because of her -

Then, one of the goons raises a gun, and she doesn’t even think about it: she hip-checks Simmons out of the shot’s way, and charges, yelling, at the agent.

His eyes widen in surprise, and that pause is all she needs: she barrels into him and the two of them tumble to the floor, wrestling for control of the gun. There’s no room for grace or finesse: she slams her weight down onto his wrist, then headbutts him as hard as she can. As his eyes unfocus, she hears the gun dropping to the floor: grabbing it, she gets up and whirls around.

Simmons has her gun out, and squeezes off neat shots into the other two agents’ knees: as they fall to the floor, she darts over to disarm them, kicking their guns across the floor and away. Before Peggy has had time to react, she’s firing tranquilliser shots into all three of the agents. Only then does she look up and back at Peggy, breathing hard with exhilaration.

All right. This one’s going to be just fine in the field - and, for that matter, so is Peggy.

“Yeah, honey”, Morse is saying into her mic. “Everything’s okay. Make sure someone brings in a laser cutter, all right?”

*

Once Shield’s agents have cleared out the rest of the building, they debrief Peggy and her team outside. It’ll be another few days of paperwork, and they’re keen to keep the team around to help flush out other cell members around the city. The director invites them to stay and share a few of their skills, and one of the Scottish agents casts Peggy some hopeful looks as she’s considering the invitation.

As she follows May back through an alley towards their safehouse, Peggy remembers: the newbie derby bout is on this weekend. Her new skates are waiting, unused, by her door. She’ll likely not even return to derby now, she thinks: it was always something to do with Angie. It’s a shame, she thinks, weathering the pang that goes through her: Peggy had liked derby, too. She’d liked the people, and getting to fly fast around the track.

Peggy shakes herself. That’s that, then. Maybe she can find something else to do with all that kit, and all her new-found and pent-up derby enthusiasm. Maybe there’s another team in New York. Maybe Edinburgh has a team…

Now, there’s a thought. She’d moved to New York, left work and contacts and friends behind, to work for Shield: but Shield were now sending agents out into long-term placements in cities around the world. Was there anything, now, tying her to New York? Or might she be happier back in the UK - or travelling? Casually dating locals and colleagues, and getting to focus on fieldwork?

They’re back at the safehouse, now: she promises herself she’ll think about it later, and checks her phone one more time. She’d given Angie space, figuring she was the wronged person, and she would reach out if she wanted to talk.

It occurs to Peggy that she could talk to Angie about Shield, now. She could tell her that she’d asked to return to fieldwork, and that it had been okay: that she’d been afraid, but supporting her team had buoyed her up. She could talk to Sousa, or Jarvis, or any of the agents here, but Peggy realises: Angie’s the one she wants to tell. Angie’s the one with whom she wants to celebrate.

Well. Angie hasn’t texted. Stifling a sniffle, Peggy turns off her phone, and follows May up the stairs.

***

 

9.2.

“Where’s Peggy?”, Vera asks Angie, as they’re changing for practice that evening, and Angie thinks for a moment she might double over with the pain of it, might sob her grief out right there on the bench.

She squares her shoulders. “Don’t know, don’t care, honey: she chose her job, if you know what I mean.” She turns back to folding her clothes, ignoring the sudden dampness that’s threatening to push out from behind her eyes.

“Oh - sorry, Angie, sorry, I didn’t know. Uh, if you want to talk about it?”, Vera fumbles, reaching out a hand, then withdrawing it again.

Angie shoots her a tight smile. “Yeah. I know where to find you. Thanks. C’mon, this weekend’s bout won’t win itself, huh?”

She skates fiercely during warmup, whizzing out front of the pack and tearing her way around the track. More than that, she finds she wants to hit something, wants to hurt something: if they had a bout right now…

She shakes herself, tamping down on the feelings. If she’s not in control, she can’t skate: it’s all very well working out her anger on the track, but there’s no sense in being a danger to her teammates or to other players. It’s not how derby works.

She can’t escape the mention of Peggy, though. During the break, Carol checks in: “Hey, Angie, you think Peggy will be around on Saturday?”

“Don’t think so.” Angie adds a glare, hoping the message is clear: Carol’s eyebrows raise in sympathy before she looks away.

“Okay, well, that’d mean we’re short a newbie”, Carol says, looking down at her clipboard before again facing the whole team. “Not the end of the world: we’d just have to make up our numbers with someone more experienced.”

“Is that allowed?”, Vera asks.

Carol gives a noncommittal shrug. “Well… it’s not something I’d prefer. I’d worry we’d get criticism, or the refs would look more harshly on our team. It makes sense, it’s only fair that the newbies get a chance, but… hey. What can you do?”

No-one looks at Angie: for her part, she’s staring, mutinous, at the floor. She’s not interested in the bout, or in team politics: she’s just waiting on the whistle to tell her she can get out there, skate again, and leave it all behind.

*

It doesn’t work. Her dynamic with her teammates, her blocking style: none of it works. Somehow, she’s gotten so used to Peggy’s style of jamming, learned to anticipate her moves perfectly, that throwing her back into a team without Peggy just leaves her scattered and broken. It’s ridiculous and illogical, and she’s furious with herself: they must have done ten practices together, tops, and not even a bout, yet Peggy’s so rooted in her head that she’s thrown off Angie’s game.

Not for long. Angie drags Vera out in the next break and makes her run laps with her, practises dodging past her and blocking her way, gets up in her face and tries to trip her, until Vera finally throws up her hands and skids to a stop.

“Hey. Enough now, huh?”, Vera calls after Angie until she, too, stops and glides back to her. “Hey. I’m sorry, hon: I know it hurts. But taking it out on all of us isn’t going to help. You want to sit out, maybe see me back home for a drink?”

Angie stops, deflated: she’s right. Vera doesn’t deserve this, and nor do their teammates.

“Okay”. Angie nods, and, after a moment’s hesitation, holds up her arms: Vera doesn’t even wait before skating to her and wrapping her up in a tight hug. “Okay”, Angie says again, burying her face in her friend’s shoulder and breathing deeply, fighting down a sob. “Sorry. See you at home.”

“See you at home, hon.”

*

She’s the wronged one, here: Angie knows this. She’d been justified in exploding as she did, in throwing Peggy out: anything less, and it wouldn’t have felt right. Peggy would have thought she was lacking in self-respect, and would have taken her acceptance as an invitation to screw her around even more. _Frantic work schedule, my ass._ As though that was the biggest deal-breaker she could think of.

And… there’d been the dudes with guns. It felt like a nightmare, now: couldn’t have been quite real, but for her broken-up door, and for Peggy, gone. She hadn’t slept, after that: had lain awake for a few hours, then gone out at dawn. The hardware store on the corner had sold her two big deadbolts for her door, and Angie had fitted them right away with the power tools from the communal cupboard.

She hadn’t even thought twice about the noise from drilling her door so early in the morning: in any case, she’d doubted most of the household had been sleeping soundly either. Angie had been entirely focused on the bolts, and how it would feel once she was in her room, door locked and both bolts drawn.

Peggy should have told her. She should have given her the choice. Angie doesn’t owe her a damn thing.

… So why does Angie keep picking up her phone, hoping Peggy will have texted an apology? Or feeling tempted to text Peggy a conversation opener?

It’s hope, she realises. Peggy makes things happen; she fixes things. Angie can’t see any way that the two of them could reconcile - no path along which she’d want to, not after everything - but somehow, she trusts that Peggy could fix this. That she could recognise her mistakes, and work out some way to make it up to Angie. That they could have… whatever it is they both meant, when they talked about the long term.

But her phone remains silent, and every time Angie checks it, the thought beats into her mind: Peggy doesn’t care. She’d never cared. She’d put Angie in danger, and had fought back against her when she’d objected. And… she’d disrespected Angie’s career. What some Shield agent, travelling around first-class no doubt, would know about working waitress wages for a living…

Enough. Angie switches off her phone and leaves it by her bed, then grabs some whisky from the cupboard and goes to join Vera. Now: there was someone to whom she _did_ have to apologise.

*

The next morning, Angie’s up, dressed, and on her second cup of coffee, when she turns on her phone and sees that the diner’s left a message. Shifts cancelled today: they’re cutting down on everyone’s hours, training them to handle the diner single-handedly for several days a week. Angie would be on her own tomorrow, instead.

“That’s just great”, she mutters to herself, clicking aimlessly around her phone as she wonders what to do. She could just go back to bed. Not going to spend any money that way. If Peggy was here, she could ask her to play hookey with work - no. Or she could go out and skate, could see who else was around -

What was it Peggy had said? “Waste of time and talent”, huh? Well: it’s as good a time as any to go see if anyone’s hiring today. Just, hone up the old audition technique, doesn’t much matter what the job is - yeah. Yeah, that’s something Angie could do today.

She calls up the audition list, and starts looking for something close by, and casting today. You never know.

*

As soon as she’s out of the audition, she phones Vera: it’s her day off, and she’s on a date. She’ll pick up if they’re not… busy.

They’re not busy. “Vera, I got a callback!” She’s bouncing right there in the street outside the studio, and knows there’s a big grin plastered over her face. “I went in for an ad last-minute, and they liked me! Said right away they’d be bumping me to the shortlist - they’re filming next week!”

“For real? That’s great news, honey!”, Vera’s beaming too, Angie can hear it in her voice. “How come? I thought you were working today - “

“Yeah, they cancelled, and they’ll be cancelling yours too most likely. Be ready to have last-minute fun this week, huh?”

“Last-minute fun I can manage. We’ll see about the money. But anyway, whatever: so you went in? Was it just the one audition? Who was it?”

“There was another ad, too: they said outright that I wasn’t the right fit, but actually they gave me a bunch of good tips? Seemed to really like my style, and said they’d keep me on file for next time. That’s good too, huh? More than I’d expected, in any case: I thought it’d all be just clear yeses and noes.”

“That’s definitely good: if they kept you on file, that’s great”, Vera says, and Angie can feel her voice warming her as though she’s right there with a hug. “The more folks who’ve seen your work and know who you are, the better, I think: but if you’re going back for a callback next week, that’s just perfect! We’ll celebrate tonight, okay? See you back home in a while?”

“Damn straight”, Angie says, grinning. “See you later.”

*

Vera’s only gone and invited half the Griffith. And made a cake.

Angie walks in to the kitchen to a chorus of squeals, and is quickly enveloped in hugs. Over the heads of her friends, she sees Vera, who looks back at her and shrugs ruefully before turning back to the cake she and Helen are decorating. She’s answering questions about the agency and the audition experience - no, actually, they’d been very friendly and professional, including the ones who had turned her down - yeah, their feedback had been great, constructive and useful - when Helen grabs her arm to drag her gently over to the table.

The cake has “Congrats, Angie!” iced over it, and - wow, really? - Vera had constructed an Oscar statuette out of what looked like marzipan and glitter.

“You know this is totally overkill, right?”, Angie says, looking back and forth between Helen and Vera, who are wearing identical pleased grins. “It’s a callback, that’s all: folks get them all the time. Doesn’t mean it’s going to lead to anything.”

“Yeah, I know”, Vera says. “But, we don’t get to celebrate much, and I figured I wanted cake before I go in and hear my job’s been cut in half. Now shut up and accept your Oscar, okay?”

“Okay”, says Angie, taking the proffered plate. “Long as you’ll do me something with dishwasher tablets on top once I get the role, huh?”

“Don’t push it”, Vera says, before raising her voice to the room. “Come and get it!”

*

Cake plates and half-empty glasses litter every surface by the time Angie has a moment to herself. She leans on the wall, watching Lorraine and Helen dance, and thinks idly back to the weekend. It had only been a couple of days ago: dating Peggy, charging around town with her. Promising things to each other.

She sighs, too tired now to try and tamp down on her feelings: she wishes Peggy was here. She wishes she could tell her about the callback. She doesn’t even have it in her to be angry, anymore.

Angie picks up her phone a couple of times: no messages. She’s not expecting them, certain Peggy wants to give her space, but, still: she’s disappointed. She wants to text her: to let her know that she auditioned today, she put herself out there, and that it went well. That Peggy’s push for Angie to audition had actually worked. She looks at the phone for some time, fingers poised over tapping out a message, before putting it down again.

There’s nothing from Peggy: she, too, must want space. Angie turns off her phone, and goes back to the party.

***

 


	10. Chapter 10

 

10.1

On bout day, Vera’s waiting for Angie, face grim, when she hits the changing rooms. “We haven’t got enough newbies. I don’t know if they’ll let them participate in the newbie bout.”

Angie’s quiet for a long moment. She looks behind Vera, to see the changing rooms full of solemn-faced fresh meat recruits. They’re not yet dressed to play: they’ll be watching the experienced players’ bout first, then taking part in their own bout after the interval. Several are dressed in “Go Avengers!” team t-shirts, and Vera’s all in black with a red wig.

Angie looks back at Vera, adjusts her winged headpiece, and sighs. When did this become her job to sort out? “Okay, okay. I’ll go talk to the refs. Would you be up for coming in as an extra for the newbie team? Maybe they’ll let them play if they’ve got the right numbers…”

“Should be you, don’t you think? You’ve been helping out fresh meat a bunch, they might find that easiest to swallow.”

“Huh”, Angie says, thoughtful. “Well, anyway: I’ll go talk to them. We can work out specifics later.”

The refs are busy, skating back and forth between the Avengers and the Fantastic Four to check in with the coaches and finalise the players’ roster. Angie manages to catch one as she’s skating back to the desk - she recognises her from the opposing team from a few bouts back. With Angie not yet in skates, the ref’s very tall, and Angie clamps down on the thought that she’s also very busy and important. They’re all here because they love derby: and everyone wants to make sure the newbies have a good time.

“Hey. You’re Miriam, right? We met back at the Mad Max bout? Listen - our newbie team - they’re short a player. What can we do to make sure the ones who showed up can go out there and play anyway? Like, I’m happy to have one of us step in, or we can borrow a player from the other team - “

“That won’t work”, Miriam interrupts, not entirely unkindly. “ I’m sorry: they only have seven players out as it is, so there’s no spares. I can check in with the refs about the idea of fielding someone else. We’d have to do something to balance out the scores - look, uh, don’t hope for much, okay? We haven’t been short on players before. The refs don’t usually go for mixing up skill levels.”

“Okay, I understand”, Angie says, talking fast as Miriam makes to skate away, “listen, all the others showed up, and they’ve been so excited - we’ll do anything to make sure they can play. I’ll come in - I’ve only been around a couple years - or you can bring someone experienced from the other team, if you think that’ll make it fairer - whatever you want. We’ll make it work. Let me know?” She drops her voice a little. “Look, let me go back to the changing rooms with good news, okay? They’re all there waiting.”

“I’ll try. I’ll let you know”, Miriam says. “I’ll come find you there, okay?”

When Angie returns to the changing rooms, there’s someone familiar standing outside them. She’s shuffling on her feet, hand hovering over the door. He dark hair is pulled up into a bun, and she’s holding her brand-new skates by the laces -

“Peggy?”

Peggy visibly jumps - Angie’s sure she’s never seen her so skittish - and turns around. Close up, Angie can see her eyes are red, and as she stares at Angie, new tears well up. Angie puts her hands onto her hips, trying to look stern, pushing down the urge to just fling her arms around her.

“So what’s all this, English?”, Angie says, scenarios flying through her mind. Is she being too hostile, might she push Peggy away all over again? Or is some shortness from her the least she deserves, and useful to underline how serious the situation is?

To her credit, Peggy flinches a little, and looks contrite. Angie stays quiet, letting it feel awkward, letting Peggy fill the silence.

“I came here to skate”, Peggy says, quiet and tentative, before straightening up a little. “And I cam here to apologise.”

Angie just lets out a low hum, and a nod.

“You were absolutely right”, Peggy continues. “I should have let you decide whether you wanted to date someone in my - line of work. It wasn’t fair, or reasonable, of me to pull you into all of this: and telling you my job was unpredictable was nowhere near enough. I’m so sorry. You deserved better - you deserve better. You deserve someone who’ll be upfront with what they can offer, and, and, who can give you the big, exciting, all-encompassing relationship you deserve.” Her voice breaks, and the tears are falling now, and Angie feels a desperate need well up inside her: to reach out, and take Peggy in her arms.

“I understand if you don’t want to see me again”, Peggy continues, voice shaking and hoarse now. “I’ll go, if you want me to: you can have derby. It’s more yours, anyway. But I thought I’d ask: if you wanted to be friends. Maybe go for coffee, and talk about something - something normal, for once. You could tell me about your day…”

Angie, finally, reaches out. She holds a hand by Peggy’s face, eyebrows raised in a question, and Peggy looks shocked for a moment, and then nods. Angie cups her face, a thumb smudging away the tears still flowing down her cheek. Angie lifts up her other arm, and Peggy doesn’t hesitate before throwing herself into Angie’s embrace, sobbing freely now.

“Okay, honey. It’s okay. It’s good you came back here. It’s good you apologised.” Angie keeps up a soft monotone as she squeezes her hands over Peggy’s shoulders, strokes Peggy’s hair. A thought comes to her, and she pauses, checking in with herself before continuing, concluding after a few moments: yes, she wants this. Yes, this would work. “You know, honey, we could still be more than friends. If you’d like that.”

Peggy abruptly goes absolutely still in her arms, and leans back to look at Angie through tear-soaked lashes. “You’d want that? After… after everything that’s happened?”

“Well, sure: I mean, now I know what I’d be getting myself into, right?” A warm, happy bubble rises up in Angie’s chest as Peggy smiles, and then laughs: yeah, she still wants this. She’d love to make Peggy laugh like this more - would love to keep doing it, she thinks, for a very long time.

“If you want to. We can start slow again, anything you like”, Angie says, and is cut off by Peggy leaning in abruptly to kiss her: a quick, chaste peck on her cheek, but afterwards, she stays close. Close enough for Angie to turn her head, only a little, and meet her lips where they hover over her own: close enough for Angie to support Peggy when she sags against her as Angie kisses her. She’s careful, at first, but when Peggy lets out a moan into her mouth, she pulls her closer, kisses her deeper, and finds that Peggy meets her intensity. Yeah: Peggy still wants this, too. Maybe - maybe they can make this work.

They break apart but stay close, Peggy’s forehead leaning against Angie’s, their arms around each other.

“Okay, then”, Angie says, soft, and Peggy’s eyes crinkle up into a smile. “Let’s - let’s do this. Let’s talk about it later: we can work out what we both want from scheduling, huh? And, let’s see: I bet Shield must offer some kind of training, or protection, for folks people are dating. You want to bring me in onto the firing range sometime? That’d be a hot date and then some.” In her arms, Peggy shakes gently with laughter, and Angie thinks: yeah. They’ll be okay.

From far off, Angie registers whooping on the track, the music amping up. “Oh! English, you’re charming, but I’ve still got a bout to get to. And, it sounds like, so do you: after the interval, huh?”

Peggy holds up her skates, beaming. “I’ll leave these here.” For the first time, her gaze falls onto the winged headdress Angie’s wearing over her helmet, then to her bright red cape. “Um… I forgot to bring a costume. We’re still team Avengers, is that right?”

“Sure are. And hey, if you ask nicely, I might even lend you my sweet Thor accessories when I’m done, too.” With that, she gives Peggy a gentle shove off towards the stands, and heads back into the changing room to grab her skates.

***

 

10.2

The Fantastic Four - a team from Brooklyn that Angie hasn’t played before, though Vera had spoken highly of their afterparties - play fast and hard, and Angie finds herself consistently playing at the very limit of her skills. It takes all her concentration to hold her own, and she’s shouting commands to her blocking team from a position sprawled out on the floor just as often as from the centre of their pack. It’s exhilarating: she’s so used to playing against her own, familiar team, that she finds herself stepping her game up and up now that there’s a challenge.

During her breaks, she looks out at the bleachers: Peggy’s there, cheering between Lorraine and Carol. Angie also takes note of a full front row of seven Fantastic Four newbies: they’re packed in close to each other, all bouncing with excitement, cheering for their team and applauding politely whenever the Avengers’ jammer breaks out into the front ahead of their own. Angie points this out to Vera, who nods. “Yeah, they’ll do okay, huh?”

“Worthy adversaries for our own fierce warriors, say I”, Angie says, puffing up and striking a pose, just as Helen tears away from the pack and takes the lead.

Vera huffs out a laugh, fiddling with her spider-patterned gauntlets, then turns to her. “So, you all right, hon?”

Angie glances up to see that Vera’s looking at her seriously, and takes a moment to think before replying. “Yeah. Yeah, I think it’ll be okay. Both of us want to try again, and we’re going to have a proper talk about everything.”

Satisfied, Vera nods. “Okay, then. Well, you know where I am if you want to talk, okay? Any time. Oh, and: want to see if you can talk to someone about the Griffith’s security? It’s okay, and we’ll be fine: just, if you’re in this long-term, it likely won’t be the last time.”

Helen makes the signal to end the round, and as the whistle blows, Angie grabs Vera into a quick, tight hug. “Yeah, I know. I will. Thanks, Vera - thanks so much.”

*

The bout finishes up with the Avengers edging just ahead, after a spectacular round involving Helen flying several times around the track, accompanied by a crescendo of cheers from half the stands. Peggy, Lorraine and Carol are all on their feet, shouting incoherently, by the time that the final whistle blows: the final scores put the Avengers at six points in front.

As Helen vanishes under a crowd of well-wishes skating and sprinting towards her, Peggy runs around the edge of the crowd until she finds Angie, burying her in a hug. “You were great too, you know”, she says, punching her in the shoulder. “They’d have racked up at least twenty extra points if you hadn’t blocked them so consistently.”

“Thanks, honey”, Angie says, taking off her helmet so she can slick back her sweaty hair. “What say we go get you kitted up? If there’s time, I’ll draw some lightning bolts on your face.”

*

Peggy’s skating gentle laps in and out the changing room, warming herself up as Angie digs in her bag for her glitter pens, when she spots a stranger darting around a corner and heading towards the Avengers’ changing rooms. She wouldn’t usually blink at seeing a strange man at a derby bout: it’s just that this one’s wearing a shifty expression, and a jacket with a strange logo - one that reminds her of something she’d seen in Edinburgh.

She catches the door as he enters the room, and follows quietly, a step behind. She hears Angie -

“Sorry, rollergirls only in here - hey, wait, you’re - ?”

He’s grabbed her, in complete, terrifying silence, and Peggy doesn’t hesitate: she picks up one of Angie’s skates off the bench by its laces, and swings it around in a circle. He’s already dragging her backwards, and he’s seen Peggy: he opens his mouth with a triumphant smile, no doubt ready to make a threat, or start bargaining -

Peggy cuts him off, swinging the skate in an arc and cracking him around the head with it. He goes down like a stone, and Angie ducks under his arm and backs off fast across the room. Once she’s sure he’s stopped moving, Angie carefully comes close again.

“Wow, English. You knocked him out”, she says, leaning gingerly over to look at his face. A thick red welt, the shape of Angie’s wheel, is swelling up on the side of his head. “I think I know this guy”, Angie continues. “He’s one of the goons who came to my room last weekend. Huh: I wonder why he’s here now?”

Peggy hasn’t yet put the skate down: she swings it gently from her hand as she thinks. “I don’t know. Looking for a hostage? They may well have heard about Edinburgh - oh yes, I was away, um, I’ll tell you about it soon? Anyway: he could be looking for revenge - but it’s strange to only find one agent here: that would suggest someone who had gone rogue. In any case: I’m going to go phone Sousa. Let them sort it out. Angie: are you all right?”

“Oh, I’m fine”, Angie says, picking up her other skate and starting to pull loose the laces. “I’m fine, honey. And I gotta say, it’s kinda satisfying to watch you take out some guy that was in my house, you know? Let me know if you need any help with him.”

“Help me tie his hands and feet? We can at least make sure he doesn’t cause any trouble for my colleagues.”

They drag the Hydra agent over to one of the benches, and as Angie’s tying his hands, Peggy gets on the phone. It’s not five minutes later that a local Shield patrol drives up to the building, and just ten minutes after that that Sousa arrives to brings in a full team.

To Peggy’s surprise, Sousa has Jarvis in tow, who folds Peggy into a hug and says, “my dear, I heard you were playing today, and I just happened to be at the office: luckily, Mr. Sousa here didn’t mind my borrowing a ride with him at all. I hope that’s all right?”

Peggy squeezes him tightly and smiles. “Of course I don’t mind. It’s wonderful that you’re here: I’ll have someone find you a space in the stands, all right?”

Peggy stands back with Angie and lets the agents work: Angie had already informed the refs that the newbie bout would be starting a little late, and that the Avengers’ changing rooms were off limits for now. She’d made up something about nerves-induced nausea in a couple of the players causing a mess, and Peggy relaxes, knowing the details of her work are safe.

Angie leans onto Peggy’s shoulder as Sousa nods to his agents and directs them to take the awakening Hydra agent outside. “Well, this is how it’s going to be, huh, English?”

Peggy turns to her. “I’m afraid so. This is the kind of thing I expect to happen to me, almost - well, all the time, really. But I’d never imagined they would use you to get to me, or that I’d be placing you in any danger - I’m sorry. If - if you’ve changed your mind - “

“Shhh. I was just saying.” Angie leans back against Peggy, and lets out a sigh, relaxing into her. “I think it’s okay. You already know I can look after myself just fine, and if you think they’ll come after me again, we can talk about what we can do to beef up my security. Bit of training, a few gadgets. Maybe I can get a fancy Shield phone, huh? Anyway: listen. It’s okay. We’ll work it out, huh? We’re a team.”

Relief wells up inside Peggy, and she’s not sure what to say for a moment. “Yes. Yes, okay”, she says at last, kissing the top of Angie’s head. “I’d love to be a team with you. And… thank you for understanding.”

“Shucks, honey, I know this job means the world to you”, Angie says, waving her off. “That’s obvious enough. Oh! And I almost forgot to tell you: I went and auditioned for an ad. They gave me a callback next week! And some other agency said some really good stuff about my audition with them, said they’d keep me on file. Exciting, huh?”

Peggy grabs both of Angie’s hands, delighted. “That is exciting! I can’t believe you didn’t tell me earlier! Angie, that - that’s excellent. I’m so pleased you went for it, and well done on the callback: I hope the Griffith have celebrated you thoroughly already?”

Angie waves her off, though Peggy can tell she’s pleased: her hands are fluttering a little, and there’s a blush spreading up her chest. “Yeah, they did. Not quite the same league as saving people with Shield, I know, but - “

“Nonsense, that’s wonderful too: you’ll be helping tell stories, that’s definitely important - “

“But anyway, I wanted to let you know. We can celebrate later, just us two, how about it?” And as Peggy nods, Angie suddenly sits up straight. “But enough of all this! You’ve got another team waiting on you - go, English, go! Skate like the wind!”

***

 

10.3

At first, Peggy’s self-conscious: it feels as though it’s been a while since she’s skated, and she’s in no doubt that the other newbies have trained harder and worked more for this. She doesn’t want to let them down. But as soon as she skates out onto the track for a warmup lap with the group, it’s as though she’d last trained only yesterday: the track is smooth under her feet, the swerves around the tight corners come easy, and her teammates are grinning beside her, keeping her pace. It feels right.

That feeling wobbles as the first round is called: Peggy will be jamming, and as she takes position behind the pack, a star on her helmet and feeling suddenly very alone, she hopes she can do the team proud. Or at least, just not let the other team collect too many points. The opposing team’s jammer smiles at her, and Peggy, surprised, grins back, before they take identical, ready stances.

The whistle blows, and Peggy’s shocked as the Fantastic Four’s jammer takes off like a rocket: before Peggy’s even had time to accelerate, she’s already muscling her way through the pack. The Avengers’ blockers put up a good fight, but the opposing team are terrifyingly efficient: they’re making life difficult for the Avengers blockers as well as helping their own jammer through the pack. She’s already through and taking off around the track by the time that Peggy’s reached the pack.

She quails to see the tight-knit group of blockers: they feel like an insurmountable wall. She pushes one way, then another, then jumps at hearing the whistle blow as she slips one foot over the line.

It’s a penalty: Peggy moves back ten paces. The opposing jammer’s returning around the track: that’s good, now the blockers will be focusing more on her. Peggy concentrates on the pack, accelerates up, and slams into them once again: feints left, then swerves right around the wide outside of the track - an opposing blocker makes to derail her, but she’s stopped by one of Peggy’s own team - and finally, she’s through and speeding away.

Cheers erupt from the stands as Peggy skates around the track, and she turns the corner to see Angie, and several more players from her row, jumping up and down and cheering her. A surge of adrenaline rushes through her: she’s flying, she’s unstoppable, and she speeds up even more: maybe she can just blast through the pack this time.

She almost makes it. One blocker moves out in front of her, and Peggy thumps into them: she flails, loses her balance, and both of them go down, sprawled over each other. Peggy’s still flying on endorphins: she shrugs internally, and grins into the blocker’s face - they’ve got glittery orange flames painted around their eyes and down their arms - and, getting up to her knees, she offers them a hand up.

“You okay?”, they say, massaging their thigh: Peggy thinks her skate had landed there.

“Just fine, thank you: are you all right?”, Peggy says, and they nod in response. “Well, then we’ll carry on, I think: good luck!”

After the whistle blows to finish the round, Peggy grins at Angie in the stands, who smiles back and holds a hand to her chest. Peggy will now get a break of at least a round: she collapses onto the bench, watching as the new team line up.

Angie’s cheering on Carol, who has lined up to jam: the whistle blows, and Peggy watches as Carol skates up to the pack, and manages to immediately pass off the star covering from her helmet to Lorraine. No-one is covering Lorraine, and she grabs the star and skates off before the blockers can react, pulling the star over her head as she’s skating alone around the track. Surprised cheers erupt from the stands: it’s unusual to see a star pass so early in the game, and it seems to have taken both players and audience a few seconds to register what had happened. Peggy grins to realise that it’s something Lorraine and Carol must have planned out together.

Peggy watches the pack as Lorraine comes back to fight her way through: they’re staying in tight formation, just as they had with Peggy. Maybe to better absorb the force of the jammer’s impact, and make it less likely that she’ll scatter them through speed alone. Lorraine smashes into them at first, and fights her way through slowly: first trying to get between two of them, then passing close around, then finally, dropping back and approaching fast again, to swerve around at the last moment. That’s the way to do it, Peggy thinks: speed and dexterity, changing technique fast and relying on getting past before the blockers can react. Next time, she’ll be ready.

Peggy’s fielded again as a jammer for the next round, and she takes position, jaw set, eyes locked on the pack. Fast, and agile, she thinks: it’s not her usual style, but she can do that. She just has to get there before the other jammer. The whistle blows, and Peggy runs forward on her toe-stops before transitioning, wobbling only a little, into a skate. She makes it to the pack, and narrowly misses crashing into a blocker and losing all her momentum. Peggy spins on one skate, thinking for one dizzying second she’ll overbalance, and then she’s away: dodging in a tight arc around the edge of the pack, one of her own blockers holding back the others to clear space for her, and she’s off.

A whoop escapes her as she skates away: she made it out first! She’ll be scoring the big points! The ref skating on her left, one arm outstretched, confirms that: they’ve labelled her as the lead jammer for this round. The stands erupt into a deafening cheer as she passes by them, and she looks out at them, pumping her fist with joy. It’s all speed, now, the pure thrill of the chase: the pack behind her, Peggy lapping them as fast as she can to fit in another pass.

She manages three more laps before the whistle calls time: two more with easy dodges through, and the last one with a struggle. The blockers have become wise to her moves: they spread out to cover the width of the track, and she has to throw herself between two of them and hope to stay balanced. She falls, goes back, tries again: eventually, they run out of time just as she makes it past the pack. Peggy grins at the opposing blockers, rubbing her bruised thighs, as they skate back to their respective benches: they’ve all adapted fast to each other, and she makes a mental note to get Angie to show her that skate-jumping thing she does.

Peggy’s less effective as a blocker, she discovers: Carol yells instructions at her and Lorraine, and she does her best to follow them, but the Four’s jammer is relentless. Peggy finds herself admiring the opposing jammer’s style: for all that she’s knocked back by the Avengers - and, once or twice, knocked over - she gets up fast and carries on fast, raining down the attempts on the pack until she finally breaks through. Peggy glides along, watching as the jammer skates away, and files away notes on her style, too. Peggy needs more practice: in working with her team, and in increasing her patience and endurance for jamming, too. She’s heartened to think that there’ll be opportunity for lots more practice soon, with Angie alongside her, teaching her some of her fancier moves.

The Fantastic Four take a solid lead halfway through the game, and firmly keep it despite the Avengers’ best efforts. The bout finishes with them far out in front, and Peggy, exhausted to the bone, joins in with the applause, and lines up to high-five the team as they take their victory lap. She watches Vera hug the Fantastic Four’s jammer: that same one whose style Peggy had been admiring earlier. They’ll all be coming to the Griffith for the afterparty: perhaps she can get a few tips there.

Angie high-fives Peggy with both hands when she reaches her, a grin plastered all over her face. Peggy’s still flying high on adrenaline, and she scoops her into a tight hug. Behind Angie, Sousa and Jarvis are waiting to clap Peggy on the back and congratulate her.

“Never had any idea you were into all this stuff”, Sousa says, looking a little out of his depth. Peggy looks around, at the costumed rollergirls and loud decor, and laughs out loud.

“Not sure I knew either, Daniel: but you know that you’re welcome to the bouts anytime?”, she says, an arm around Angie.

“I hope I might be welcome to come back as well, Ms. Carter?”, Jarvis says, leaning over to shake hands with Angie in greeting. “It’s all rather exhilarating: I must say, you certainly delivered when you promised me you’d find a new and exciting hobby all those weeks ago! Very well done, indeed.”

“Thanks, Jarvis! You as well, of course: anytime”, Peggy says, then leans over to whisper to Angie. “Can they come to the afterparty? I can vouch for them both - “

“Course, English”, Angie says at full volume. “There’s something else we’ve got to do first, though.”

As if on cue, a fanfare blasts out over the speakers. “Newbie awards!”, Angie says, reaching up and squeezing Peggy’s hand. “For both teams, from their coaches. Listen up!”

“Teams!” Chaos is standing on a chair, speaking into a microphone. “Congratulations, and a big well done, to everyone who played here today. You displayed impeccable sportsmanship, hard work, and some excellent skating.” Over the cheers, she continues. “Particular well done to all our new skaters, who have completed their first bouts! I hope to see you all returning to practice with a list of new ideas.”

“Yes, please”, Peggy says into Angie’s ear. “Show me how to do that thing where you jump over the blockers’ ankles sometime, okay?”

“I’ll show you anything you want, English, just you - “ Angie’s cut off by the coach speaking again.

“Awards! We’d like to recognise the hard work and newly-honed skills of our new players. Based on the recommendations of their coaches, please congratulate the following!”

She reads out award winners from both teams: Vera’s friend on the Fantastic Four receives Best Jammer, while Carol receives Best Blocker. Lorraine’s picked out as Deadliest Opponent, to a laugh from both teams, several players nursing bruises, and one of the opposing blockers receives Best Team Player. Finally, Chaos announces -

“Most Improved: Peggy Carter!”

\- and Angie squeals beside Peggy, jumping up and down. For her part, Peggy just stares until Angie pushes her forward: she goes on up to Chaos and reaches up to shake her hand and take her certificate. Elation swells up inside her: right then, it feels as good as cracking open Hydra cells, or backing up May on a mission in the field. She’d worked hard - and she’ll work even harder, in the weeks to come. She’ll see her skills improve -  she already has.

“Thanks, Coach”, she says, soft enough just for the coach to hear.

“Don’t get cocky, now, huh?”, Chaos grins down at her, then turns back to the crowd. “Next time the newbies play, they’ll be doing so under registered roller derby names: that’s something your groups can organise for you in the next few weeks. Use what you’ve learned today. Level up your skills. We’ll see you at the next match!”

“Derby names, hmm?”, Peggy says, once she’s back at Angie’s side. “Will you help me out?”

“Definitely!”, Angie says, delighted. “We’ll ask everyone tonight at the party. The puns get worse as everyone gets drunker. It’s going to be great. So, Most Improved: you ready to be my date?”

“Oh, yes. Absolutely”, Peggy says, and, arms linked, they follow their teams out to the afterparty.

 

****

THE END

****

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! We’re finished! Thank you so much for reading! Extra special thanks to folks who have been reading and commenting along: y’all gave me just enough enthusiasm to do the final push of proofing and edits and get this out there. This is… the longest thing I’ve ever written, and the most complex, and it’s taken, oof, such a long time, and I’m delighted to finally get to share it with y’all.  
> Want more in this universe? Want to yell at me about derby? Just want to say hi? Prompt me, or say hello over at [my tumblr](https://jeffcatson.tumblr.com/). Also, suggestions for Peggy’s derby name are super welcome. And thanks again!


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